


Tower of Babel

by ohthelinsanity



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Multi, it's centered around friends though all the girls are friends, lady friendship!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 116,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthelinsanity/pseuds/ohthelinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her previous college roommates moved out, Sasha managed to find the three replacements to keep her flat: Ymir, her alcohol connoisseur co-worker, Annie, a secret underground fighter, and Krista, the bastard of a rich man who pays her to keep her identity a secret. Three's all she needed, but when Sasha meets a homeless, pregnant teen by the name of Mikasa, she can't turn her away. </p><p>But in the wake of their new living arrangements, the girls are challenged to see their problems in a new light, and things start to pile up: liquor bottles, hospital visits, credit card bills, and maternity clothes. Sasha is determined to keep together the apartment of people she brought under one roof, even though it comes at a sacrifice. But the cute bald guy at the comedy club thinks she doesn't have to sacrifice a thing: all she has to do is accept a little help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

_July 26th_

_._

Sasha, in her reliable and totally unbiased opinion, was probably the best choice for a roommate ever.

She had a lot of marketable traits and qualities that were well suitable for a fun and caring living companion: minimal (therefore environmentally and cost friendly) shower habits, extensive knowledge on tropical birds, kickass hash brown making skills, and with the right amount of alcohol and technological availability, the immensely coveted talent of playing the theme from Banjo Kazooie.

So why Sasha was having a hard time finding the needed three other roommates to keep her apartment, she had no idea.

The deadline, to be precise, was two weeks. If she didn’t find _three_ roommates in _two_ weeks, she was going to be kicked out, and her first year of veterinary school would be spent sleeping with the horses in the stables at the university. Or worse—Jean and Marco’s couch. But a stroke of luck came in the form of her annoyingly hot co-worker Ymir by means of an overheard conversation Sasha caught when she was sneaking tequila shots before going to refill table 8’s drinks. Something about her apartment being “condemned”. Throwing back one more shot for good fortune, Sasha ducked down and snuck behind the bar.

“Ymir,” Sasha cooed, earning strange looks from the regular at the end of the bar. “Move in with me.”

Ymir grinned, dimples lost underneath all the freckles, and flipped a beer in her hand before snapping the cap off and sliding it down to a not-so-patient waiter. “Oh, baby, this is a little fast, don’t you think?” she teased.

Sasha, however, nodded her head in what she hoped was sagely. “Yes, but I think we’re ready to take that next step.”

Ymir checked the bar to make sure everyone was taken care of before she slipped herself a shot of vodka. “What about all those other girly girls you were living with? Mina, Hannah and…Bitch, was it?”

“Hitch,” Sasha corrected automatically, but the two were hilarious synonyms if she were being honest. “They’ve all moved out, done their own things. I’ve got the place to myself.”

“Heh, bet you’re having fun making rent.”

“You have no idea.”

Another customer came up to the bar and Sasha took a step to take their order, but Ymir reached down and pinched her rear end to stop her. “A few preliminary questions before we go any further,” Ymir explained before she took the man’s order: a plate of nachos and a beer on draft. “Well, one, really.”

Sasha’s let out a squeal that had Ymir rolling her eyes. “Ask away!”

“Do you have room for my extensive wine collection?”

Squinting, Sasha leaned over and studied Ymir’s expression—she wasn’t always sure when she was joking or not, a side effect of her regular dry sense of humor. Slowly, she said: “Is this a euphemism for your alcoholism?”

“You’re _hilarious.”_ The computer next to the bar printed out a bar order: two wines. She grabbed the house cabernet along with two glasses and poured them. “But I really do have a wine collection.”

It didn’t really surprise Sasha. After all, Ymir was the classiest borderline alcoholic in existence. “Uh, there’s this real small bonus room that didn’t fit bedroom regulations in the flat. You can try that?”

Ymir nodded. “Okay, sounds good. When can I move in?”

Sasha squealed loudly, wrapping her arms around Ymir’s waist, bobbing her up and down. “Yes! You’re the best!”

“Yeah, yeah, now _get off.”_  Sasha did as she requested and Ymir jabbed a finger her way. “Now, do you need any of my furniture?”

Trying to play it cool Sasha tapped her chin in thought, as if she didn’t already know that the entire apartment damn well needed furnishing. “We could use a couch.”

“Done.”

“…and a kitchen table.”

“Done.”

“Pots, pans, cups….plates….”

“….Done. Anything else?”

“…”

“…”

“…How about you just bring everything.”

 

* * *

 

Moving in was an absolute hassle.

Sasha’s apartment was on the third floor and the couch didn’t fit in the elevator, so the girls had to carry it up the stairs in mid-summer heat. After they had moved the table, TV, and Ymir’s bed, Sasha was cursing the idea of not calling Marco and Jean to come down and help.

“Like they would help,” Ymir grunted, adjusting her hold on a particularly heavy box that had an array of pots and pans.

Sasha grimaced as she tried to open the stairway door with her foot to let both of them through. “They would if we paid them.”

Ymir scoffed. “I wouldn’t pay those losers. Well, at least not Jean.” Ymir watched as Sasha struggled with her box of nice china plates. Ymir didn’t have a lot of nice things, but those plates were a rather nice hammy-down from her godfather and an expensive replace. “Careful,” she warned sourly.

“You could give them a bottle of wine,” Sasha managed to say in between heavy breathing.

“ _No.”_

“Not even to keep me from… _whining_?” Sasha snickered.

“You’re such a loser.”

Soon, the conversation was forgotten and her thoughts were replaced with the aching feeling in her arms. “I need to work out more.” She thought about her unused gym membership. What a waste.

Ymir offered a switch, which Sasha was quick to decline; Ymir whispered something about being a stubborn ass.  “I’ll say, Twiggy.”

“Are you referring to a tree branch or the supermodel? Because— _shit!”_ With a screech of surprise Sasha wasn’t all too proud of, she tripped on a stair and fell, sending the box of Ymir’s china down a floor; it tumbled and tossed like a washing machine full of broken glass, a noise that sounded expensive.

“Sorry,” Sasha whispered, even though she knew it wasn’t going to be enough. “…maybe we should stick to paper plates, huh?”

“You _asshole.”_

Ymir spent a few minutes being angry, but admitted later that it wasn’t all a big deal—the only reason she liked the plates were because they were expensive. She personally found them quite ugly. Without Marco or Jean’s help, the two of them managed to move all of Ymir’s things into the apartment (including all the wine, much to Sasha’s dismay. She snuck one in her room for personal payment and hoped she wouldn’t notice) and it already started to feel like home, the home she had with Mina, Hitch and Hannah. The apartment still lacked a lot of personal touches (Ymir didn’t own any art, and neither did she) but hopefully that could be remedied with two new roommates.

“You really don’t have a lot of stuff,” Ymir mused aloud, looking around the apartment: the living room had been completely bare, and the kitchen was not much better with only a microwave and coffee maker, and a few other kitchen necessities.

“No,” Sasha admitted. “I never really had a need.” Which was always true when she grew up as a child; she and her father didn’t have the easiest go of it for a couple of years. Things were better yeah, but she hadn’t gotten around to replacing all her stuff—money was that tight. All she had to her name was a mattress that sat on the floor, a portable hanging closet from Target, four storage bins, a cell phone, her banjo and a harmonica.

Ymir took a peek in her room, probably curious to see how barren her bedroom was as well, only to let out a loud, boisterous laugh. “Holy shit, you’ve got a deer mounted on your fucking wall!”

….and she also had a stuffed deer head.

Sasha heard rustling and it took a few moments for her to realize she was taking the deer head off her wall. “Hey, don’t you go takin’ Bambi out of my room!”

She reemerged minutes later, holding the head in her hand, mindful of the long antlers. “No, dude, we got to hang this shit over the TV or something. It’s awesome.”

That made Sasha smile. None of her other roommates entertained the thought of putting it out in the public living space because it freaked them out too much. Maybe she and Ymir would be better roommates than she had even thought possible. “Seriously?”

“Yeah! But,” Ymir paused, setting it down and looking at its face. “…Bambi? Is that its name? How unoriginal. It needs a much more menacing name.”

“Well what the fuck else am I gonna name it?” Sasha asked and Ymir put the argument on the shelf for the day—she figured she’d announced a better name when she thought of one. The two of them spent the better half of the evening trying to mount it on the wall before the rest of the night was spent sprawled out on the couch, eating grilled cheese and drinking what was left of the Mountain Dew in the fridge.

One down, two to go.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, Ymir announced she had found Roommate #3.

“Who is she?” Sasha asked with a mouth full of ham sandwich; a piece fell out of her mouth and into the front pocket of her overalls. “Or is it a he?” she elaborated, plucking he slice of ham back onto her mouth.

“It’s a she,” Ymir assured, slamming a paper coffee cup on the kitchen counter. “And she made the most spectacular dirty chai latte I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“Sounds…dirty?”

“I wish.”

“Hmm.” It was strange. Ymir didn’t become infatuated with a lot of people, girls or boys. But it sounded like she had really hit it off with whoever this hot-as-hell barista was. “What’s her name?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Ymir declared, pointing her finger her way. She snapped her fingers and drew her hands over her head. “Because I have no idea!”

Stuffing the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, she picked up her glass of sweet tea and took a sip to wash it all down. “If you don’t know her name, then how did you even know she needs a place to stay?”

“I eavesdropped on her conversation—she was talking to a customer ahead of me while she made the coffee, and I heard her say she wants to find a new place!”

The whole infatuation thing Sasha had momentarily found cute was dissipating into something a little creepier with each second. “You didn’t introduce yourself or nothin’?”

Ymir sputtered. “No way! What could I say? ‘Hey, sorry for overhearing your conversation but it sounds to me like you’re desperate so move in with me!’”

Sasha shrugged. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“You have _no_ tact,” Ymir rolled her eyes, and Sasha bit back a hundred examples where Ymir was a bit short on _tact._ “But don’t worry, I have a plan. You’re gonna talk to her.”

“Why _me?_ You just said I had no tact _.”_

“Sash, I can’t. She’s too hot. I’ll screw up any chances if you let me try and convince her to move in.”

“This logic sounds _suuuuper_ flawed.”

“Shut up.”

The plan, as it turned out, was shit, so it was up to Sasha to come up with a better one. The next morning she spent her time making a “ROOMMATE WANTED” ad so that she could politely ask said barista to put it on the bulletin board that she knew was in that corner coffee shop. She’d see the ad, talk to Sasha, and bam, they’d have their third roommate.

“Now what does the girl look like,” Sasha asked as she tied up her sneakers and ignored Ymir’s exasperated remarks about how she couldn’t wear overalls two days in a row.

“Blonde, short, blue-eyed.” The description itself was incredibly vague, yet Sasha could see the hearts in Ymir’s eyes.

“That’s it?”

“She’s pretty damn short. Hair is kinda long, too.”

Sasha sighed and got to her feet, grabbing her wallet and keys and stuffing them into the pockets of her overalls, along with the ad. “Okay, got it.”

The walk to the coffee shop was short, and when she walked in her nose was assaulted with the smell of overpriced coffee and elitism—the stench of college-aged hipsters. She wasn’t too sure if the stares she was receiving was because they liked her overalls, or because they thought she was a nutter, but she pushed through and walked up to order a coffee, all the while scanning the store for a short blonde girl with blue eyes.

Just her luck, she was the one behind the counter. The first thing Sasha noticed was that Ymir had left out the part about the hooked nose and unfriendly gleam in her eye. Which was kinda scary. Whatever. Still better than Hitch, that was for sure.

“Can I take your order?” the girl asked, her voice quite tasteful.

“Yeah, two things. I'd like a hot tea and, ” she reached into her pocket and grabbed both her wallet and the ad and asked for a local bulletin board.

Sasha was surprised when the barista’s eyes softened significantly. “Oh. Um, he’s busy right now,” she said a bit awkwardly. The girl eyed the queue behind Sasha—no one. “But, I’m actually looking for a place to stay.”

Hook, line, and _sinker._ “Really!” Sasha squealed, clapping her hands together in excitement. “That’s so great.” She stuck her hand out and introduced herself, and the barista scrawled Sasha’s name on a cup before sliding it to the awaiting co-worker to make the coffee. “I’m Annie,” the barista introduced, and shook Sasha’s hand before she plucked the ad out of her hand and tore off one of the little slips with Sasha’s number on it. “I’ll give you a call tonight.”

But just as Sasha was rewarding herself for a job well done, another employee of the afternoon shift came skipping out of the back room, announcing her five minute break was over. Confusion settled over Sasha when she realized the girl was _blonde, blue-eyed and short_ (even shorter than Annie.)

This…wasn’t part of the plan.

She _may_ have messed up.

Sasha returned home and got ready for work in a daze, only to have Ymir pounce on her as soon as she clocked in. “How’d it go?”

The truth was Sasha didn’t really know if she mucked up, although her gut certainly told her she did. She had practiced what her opening statement was going to be but all that came out of her mouth was, “Was she the one with the big nose?”

“….No.”

“Then it appears I’ve messed up.”

Ymir spent the rest of her shift grumbling and nagging at her for her mistakes, even though Sasha said she was determined to fix it. After all, they still needed one more roommate. If getting Annie on board was that easy, she was sure getting Miss Bubbly Personality on board would be just as easy as well.

At the close of her shift, around 9:30, Sasha got a phone call from Annie; she stuffed her cell in the crook of her neck and tried to wipe down the last of her tables while taking the call. _“Is this Sasha?”_ Annie asked.

“Yeppers! What’s up?”

 _“Just wanted to talk to you about the apartment.”_ From the kitchen, someone dropped a glass and Ymir yelled about how she was done with people breaking her dishware. “ _What’s that?”_

“A glass. I’m still at work, cleaning up.”

_“Oh. I can call later—“_

“Nah, it’s fine. Whatcha want to know?”

They fell into an ultra-boring conversation about water bills and rent and all the other horrendous things that came with being with an adult. After Sasha told her where the apartment was and when she could stop by and see it, the deal was pretty much sealed. She was about to hang up when she heard a high pitch squeal from the background.

_“Is that the girl you met this afternoon?”_

_“Yeah, I—“_

_“Let me talk to her!”_

_“Okay, just—calm down will you.”_

There was some fumbling on the other end and then the bubbly voice returned. _“Hello? Sasha, is it?”_

“Yes,” she drawled out, slipping her cleaning rag into her apron. “Who is this?”

_“I’m Christa! I work at the coffee shop with Annie!”_

She sure did _sound_ like the girl who came out skipping from the back room. “Hello. What’s…up?”

_“Annie’s moving in with you, right?”_

“Yeah.” Sasha couldn’t believe this might actually go well. “What about it?”

 _“Well, I saw the ad that you gave us to put on the wall and I couldn’t help but notice that you needed_ two _roommates and I was wondering if you…still needed that last one?”_

Sasha wasn’t proud of the “YES!” that came spilling out of her mouth, so loud that Ymir looked up from the bar and gave her a strange look. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, yes, yes I am. You have someone in mind?”

_“You’re talking to her! So what do you say?”_

Just her luck. She hadn’t messed up a damn thing after all. “Sure, sounds good. Just so you know, rent’s going to be about—“

_“Doesn’t matter.”_

That caught Sasha off guard. Words kind of died in her throat and she grunted out a few noises instead before she finally just said, “Come again?”

_“Money isn’t an issue. So, I’ll be around with Annie to check things out, okay?”_

“Sounds good,” Sasha mumbled before she turned around and yelled, “Ymir! I got you _two_ hot blondes!”

Only when Christa giggled on the other end did Sasha realize neither of them had hung up yet.

 

* * *

 

Annie moved in first, and Sasha suspected that she might be the better roommate of the two blondes. She had two people help move her in: two tall and extremely handsome fellas, which made Sasha kind of giddy because the chances of _both_ those boys being Annie’s boyfriends was extremely low and she was free to obnoxiously hit on one of them—both, if she were lucky.

Unfortunately, Ymir’s previous statement about Sasha’s having no tact might have proven to be true because when she saw both boys in the living room of her apartment, she didn’t say a nice hello, or introduce herself: she let out a loud wolf whistle and grinned Annie’s way. “You have some damn fine friends.”

The blonde boy beamed before barking out a laugh, while the other one with the messy brown hair ducked his head and blushed. 

Annie rolled her eyes and pointed to the blushing boy. “This is Bertolt, my easily flustered and embarrassed boyfriend.” She then pointed to the blond boy and said. “Reiner. He’s gay.”

Well there went her hopes and dreams. As well as Annie’s gig for “best roommate ever.” In a childish gesture, Sasha stomped her foot on the hardwood and wailed. “This is _so_ not fair.”

Reiner chuckled again and got up from his seat, wandering towards Sasha. He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her with a bright expression. “If anyone could change my mind, I’m sure it’d be someone as beautiful as you.”

Sasha groaned and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, and such a charmer. You’re killin’ me, Annie.”

“Sorry,” Annie said flatly, not a wisp of sincerity of her tone. “He’s always been a lady’s man despite it,” and he went farther to prove that when he leaned down to peck Sasha on her cheek.

Christa came up a few minutes later, only a small box in her hand. “Hi guys!”

Reiner took to charming again, asking Christa if she needed any help carrying up her stuff but was quick to decline his offer, explain she had found two boys already on their way up to visit a friend, and she had waved a little cash their ways, so now she didn’t have to lift a finger.

Just how much money did this chick have?

Sasha was, however, mildly surprised when the two boys she had roped into helping her were Marco and Jean. Their presence was obvious as soon as the elevator doors opened on their floor--their voices carried down the corridor, both Jean’s deep rugged baritone and Marco’s softer, even alto.  They managed to stuff Christa’s mattress through the door and into her new bedroom. When they returned they were slightly out of breath but still managed to give Sasha a wave. “Hey, Sash.”

“Boys. Glad to see you’re helping the small and innocent.”

“She seems like a nice girl!” Marco said just as Jean blurted out, “She gave us 100 dollars each.”

Ah, that’ll do it.

In the end, Sasha decided to go out while Christa and Annie got comfortable; she announced she was going to get some celebratory donuts from the shop a couple blocks down, and the boys announced their stay until she returned. The last thing she heard was an exclamation about the deer on the wall before she closed the door behind her.

The streets were bustling and _scorching,_ and halfway there Sasha contemplated buying ice cream instead, but she didn’t want to deal with it melting on her way back. The lady at the small supermarket engaged her in friendly conversation as she insisted on racking up a dozen donuts. The woman slipped her an extra for free, a detail she only noticed when she was right outside the shop. A part of her wanted to go back and thank her, but she got distracted at the sight in the alleyway right behind the shop.

The familiarity of it all struck a chord with Sasha and she felt her skin grow cold despite the heat; her stomach twisted in pain. Unsure of just how uncomfortable she looked to others passing by on the street, Sasha continued to stare at the girl beside the dumpster; she was picking through the boxes of food that were technically “expired” but still good: mostly toasted pastries, things the shop had to get rid of just to keep things fresh. The girl, with her black hair and inappropriate dress for the hot weather (seriously, a scarf?) was calm in her digging and unaware of Sasha’s stares.

Sasha knew the right thing was to keep walking and move on with her life—she was making assumptions and she could easily end up offending the girl but on the other hand, a part of Sasha _knew_  what this wasbecause she had been there for 3 _years_ , years spent digging through dumpsters and sleeping on benches and showering in public restrooms.

She had to _ask._

“Hey!” Sasha said, and immediately cursed when the word slipped out a little too loudly. The girl looked up, mildly startled, but seemed to relax when she realized she wasn’t an employee or anyone else who was a threat to her food scavenging.

“Hey,” she answered back, wiping her hands on her jacket. The girl gave an awkward wave and collected a backpack she had set on the ground a few feet away. “I’ll just—“

“Wait!” Sasha swore again, closing her eyes and mentally giving herself a pep talk to _quiet the fuck down._ “I mean, wait,” she repeated and dug through her pockets for some change. She frowned when she realized she only had eight dollars, but it was better than nothing. “Here,” she pushed the money the girl’s way, but she made no effort to take it. Instead the girl fixed a hard expression on her face, not angry nor happy, but rather expressionless: an overall empty look. She seriously looked like she could use a shower, and that’s when Sasha got another idea. She dug into her wallet and fished out a small card, and put it with the rest of the money still in her outstretched palm. “It’s my gym membership card. I paid up to the rest of the month. You can shower there as much as you want.”

That was enough for the girl to finally take the card and money. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Also, try the farmers market on the outskirts of the square, right before they close. They give away fruit that looks like it could go bad soon.”

“Oh. Alright.” The girl stuffed the money and card in her backpack. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“The church on 16th feeds the homeless on Sundays, too.” It was a gutsy move to outright declare the girl homeless, but after she took the money and the card, Sasha thought her instincts were pretty dead on.

The girl went back to staring at her before finally blurting out, “You’ve done this before.” Not a question, a statement, and it wasn’t one Sasha could deny.

“Yeah, I did.” Sheepish, she looked down and remembered the extra donut in the box. She opened it up and offered it to the girl. “The baker gave me an extra, want one?”

The girl took it instantly. “Thank you…?” she repeated, this time tone questioning and Sasha supplied a quiet, “Sasha,” in return. “What’s your name?”

“Mikasa.” She took a bite of the donut. “Are you?...you’re not still…”

Picking up on her implications, Sasha answered, “I’m at the university. I’m in vet school right now.” she explained, and turned her head to point down the road where her apartment building was barely in view. “I live over there, the brick building with—“

She stopped, an idea striking her.

Sasha thought that finding three roommates was going to be hard, but here she was faced with an opportunity of having _four._ The rent for four people was reasonable, and she would definitely have no problem paying each month. So long story short, they could probably afford one more person, whether that fifth person could pay or not. Of course, it was a four bedroom apartment but…

…there was that fifth “not-quite-a-bedroom-wine-cellar” room.

That…just might do.

“…With?” Mikasa asked when Sasha had fallen into her thoughts for too long.

“With,” she began, a grin growing ear to ear, “…an extra fifth bedroom that’s free of charge for a while.”

Mikasa smiled at her, and Sasha definitely felt like the best choice for a roommate ever.


	2. the dog with a pup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I did my best to present the story as fair and unbiased as possible when discussing Mikasa's pregnancy, which means there is a small discussion of all choices she could make in regards to that. FYI.

_August 2nd_

_._

Sasha had the five blocks to her apartment complex to come up with a stellar plan.

At first her determination had her fast-walking down the streets, but when the realization that she needed a little information to boost her argument dawned to her, she slowed to a snail pace, going as far as to stop and pick a dandelion in one of the cracks of the sidewalk and pin it to her hair. Mikasa matched her paces, stopped when she did, always at her side evenly. “Tell me about yourself,” she asked once she picked up a dandelion seed and blew on it, cheating the system and making as many wishes as she could think of before all the bits caught the wind and drifted away. When Mikasa, didn’t answer, Sasha got more specific. “Okay, well, how old are you?”

“18,” she answered. Another dandelion weed stuck out in the cracks of the sidewalk and Mikasa crushed the fluffy white puff underneath her boot. “You?”

“22,” she drawled, internally wincing. Everything past 21 felt old. “Did you finish high school?”

“Yeah,” Mikasa murmured, which was good news for everyone. Not only did it mean she might not have been struggling for so long, but it would also make finding her a job easier.

“So, you had someplace to stay in high school yeah?” Mikasa didn’t say anything, but Sasha turned her head in time to see her nodding slowly. Her eyes flickered to how Mikasa clutched the strap on her backpack more fiercely and how an uneasy look quirked her mouth into a thin line. Where ever she was staying obviously pushed a button, so Sasha decided to leave that issue for another day.

“Do you have your driver’s license? ID’s and such?” Sasha asked, and again, Mikasa nodded, this time a little more determined. “That’s good.”

They reached the apartment building and Sasha had absolutely no convincing argument; if only she had seen enough action movies, she’d completely rip off one of their tragic back stories.

Once they got in the elevator and the doors closed, Sasha reached forward and stopped it mid-lift. “Look,” she sighed, facing Mikasa, “I meant my offer 100%. I want you to stay here, but I won’t lie. I live with three girls. One of which I can verify will try her damn hardest to kick your ass down the fire escape.” She paused, trying to give her other two roommates…accurate descriptions. “The other two are strangers, but, one of them has got a hook in her nose she could probably use to take you fishing and drown you in a lake.”

“What about the other one?” Mikasa asked and Sasha swore she almost sounded amused.

“4’9, daintier than a finger sandwich. Even your malnourished ass could take her.” Sasha decided. “But the point is you got to convince them that you’re worth free rent. I know that begging isn’t _easy,_ and it’s probably not your style--”

“It’s not,” Mikasa interrupted. “I won’t beg.” Her voice was stern, decisive and cutting like a knife.

“I don’t want you to. And I don’t think you’ll _have_ to. You just have to make sure that you say something so good, that turning you away would be like kicking a dog. You see?”

It was quiet for a moment, nothing but the stuffy air of the elevator swirling around and beading sweat on the napes of their necks. “So I’m a dog.” Mikasa finally drawled.

Minding the box of donuts, Sasha snapped her fingers and smiled. “You’re our dog!” She pressed the button on the elevator and watched it climb before she brought her finger to tap against her chin in thought. “A Labrador. Maybe a German Shepard.”

They stepped out of the elevator together and Sasha gave her final reminders before they walked in. The boys immediately jumped up and greeted her warmly, but she suspected it was because of the food—she couldn’t blame them. Just as everyone was getting settled, Sasha motioned for Mikasa (who was standing awkwardly in the corner of the kitchen, fiddling with a loose handle on one of the drawers) to her side. “Guys, this is Mikasa. I met her outside the donut shop.”

Christa and Marco gave enthusiastic, genuine greetings while the others were muffled and lost in the sound coming from the TV.

Clearing her throat, Sasha continued. “Mikasa’s going to live with us.”

The room went dead silent, save for the soft hiss of the TV; and then Ymir’s sharp, “What?”

Jean, not normally very observant, had been in enough arguments to see them coming. He got up from the couch and announced his leave, dragging a reluctant Marco with him. Reiner and Bertolt followed, but not before the latter give Annie a quick kiss goodbye.

Ymir reached for the remote and turned off the TV, the flat becoming eerily quiet. “Sasha,” Ymir began slowly, her eyes trained on Mikasa, “We filled all the rooms. I know counting is kind of hard for you country folk—“

“— _fuck_ you—“

“But this is a four bedroom apartment, and there’s,” she pointed to each one of them, save Mikasa, “one, two, three, four! Look at that.”

Sasha thought back to those twenty-one wishes she had made on that dandelion and said a few prayers for herself. “We do have that…fifth bedroom.”

Ymir’s reaction was instantaneous. “What was my one condition for moving in here!?”

In her second childish gesture of the day, Sasha stamped her foot. “Oh, come on!” she grabbed Mikasa by the shoulders and jostled her. “She’s way more important than your wine!”

“You _just_ met her.”

“She’s still a _person!”_

Ymir sighed so heavily, one of her bra straps slid off her shoulders. Jumping off the couch she wandered over to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, eyes narrowed Mikasa’s way. “Okay. Why should you stay?” she asked her.

A beat of silence, and then:

“I’m pregnant.”

“Wait _, what?”_

At first Sasha thought that Mikasa was _lying,_ saying something to convince the others to stay like she had instructed for her to do, but then Sasha noticed the smaller things—the twiddling of her thumbs, the flush of her cheeks, the sweat on her brow, and the glossy look in her eye.

 “You’re pregnant?” Ymir asked, sounding all too much like a mother interrogating her teenage daughter—unsure and unwilling to believe it. 

Sasha was quick to recover from the shock, although it wasn't the most graceful of tactics. “Yeah, that’s what she just said. Now are you going to let the _mother_ of your _child_ sleep on the streets?”

Ymir gave her a strange look while Christa asked, “How far along are you?”

“Two months,” she answered, voice strong despite looking a little on the delicate side.

It was a long time before anyone said anything else—Ymir drummed her fingers on the counter, thinking, Christa looked nervously between them, awaiting the next point, and Annie sat on the other end of the couch reading a book. After what seemed like an eternity, Ymir finally said, “…Sasha, give her a spare towel and let her take a shower.” Her voice was exasperated, but not entirely unkind, and she rushed to get her ready, explaining where all her stuff was and laying out an extra pair of her pajamas for her to change into. Ymir waited until she heard the hiss of the shower head before continuing. “You’ve really done it now, Sasha.”

“What was I supposed to do, _leave_ her there?”

Annie finally looked up from her book. “No. Give her a little money, give her a little food, sure. But offering your home to one of them is a little strange.”

That twisted Sasha in all the wrong ways, and her hands balled into fists. She saw red. “One of _them?_ What the hell does that mean?”

“Calm down,” Christa placated, “Annie didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what _did_ she mean?!”

Ymir’s voice cut through the tension. “Sasha. She doesn’t know,” she said softly. “Relax.”

Although Ymir hadn’t outright revealed anything, the implications were enough to make Annie apologize. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just trying to point out that she’s desperate. And desperation can be dangerous.”

Sasha didn’t like to admit that she knew what the meant. Her time spent on the streets were rough, and she’d be lying if she said she never stole anything—but it was always small things like fruit and other kinds of small foods from vendors. It never got so bad where she would mug people, break into homes and steal valuables. But that didn’t mean others didn’t.

Thinking back, she remembered how Mikasa initially wanted nothing to do with her, even going as far as refusing the money she offered. If anything, Mikasa was too prideful to steal. “I don’t think she’s dangerous,” Sasha sighed, rubbing her forehead. She was getting a fucking migraine. “I think she’s pregnant, and she shouldn’t be living on the street.”

Groaning, Ymir slid down to the floor. “You’re right. We can’t kick her out. At least not tonight. She should stay for now.”

“I agree!” Christa chirped. Reaching for her cellphone, she started dialing a number. “Hey, why don’t we order some pizza, get to know each other!”

“Can you get red peppers on it?” Which must have been Annie’s way of agreeing.

Things went back to relative normalcy after that; Christa turned the TV back on (HGTV, to which Ymir whined about incessantly), Annie went back to her book, and Sasha paced back and forth, not really sure how to revel in her victory.

Eventually, Mikasa emerged out of the shower smelling like plums and blossoms. As she towel dried her hair she announced how she could hear their entire conversation just fine from in the shower. Christa was the only one with the decency to look embarrassed, even though she was the only one who hadn’t really said anything. “I won’t steal your stuff,” Mikasa promised. “If I do…” she trailed off, eyes drifting across the room until they fell on Bambi up on the wall. “You can stuff me and put me up on your wall.”

Annie let out a snort of laughter, smiling the biggest smile Sasha had seen on her yet. “Cute.”

The pizzas came and they all settled on the floor with paper plates (Ymir made a loud comment about how she wished they had some _real_ dishware around the house) and continued to watch House Hunters because despite Ymir’s initial reluctance, she was curious to see of the couple were dumb enough to go over the budget and pick house 2.

“You were right,” Mikasa murmured beside Sasha when all the other girls were distracted. “They couldn’t kick the dog.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and nodded towards Mikasa’s stomach. “Well not when she’s expecting a _pup.”_

She hummed in agreement. “By the way, if I were a dog, I’d probably be a Malamute.”

“A Mala _what?”_

 

* * *

The last thing Sasha expected in the morning was to be woken up by Christa, slapping her little manicured hands on her head and hopping up and down on her back like the fucking chipper monster that she apparently was. After Mikasa had dropped the pregnancy bomb on them, there was no way in hell that she was going to make her sleep on the couch, so she made her home in the living room and Mikasa took Sasha’s pathetic excuse for a mattress.

“Go awaaaay,” Sasha moaned, burying her face in the small pillow she had.

“No! You have to get up!” Christa chirped.

“What time is it?”

“8 am!”

The sound that gurgled from her throat wasn’t pretty. Yesterday’s events had made her exhausted, and while she normally woke up like clockwork by 6:00 am, she just wasn’t feeling it today. Sasha could definitely use a few more hours of sleep. “God, _why_ do I need to wake up right now?” Once she shifted her position on the couch, her back cracked and burned from sleeping in such an awful position. “Besides the obvious fact that I need to realign my spine.”

“Well,” Christa drawled, and her neat little pristine hands went to weave through Sasha’s ruddy hair, “You need to shower and wash your hair,” she tugged a bit to emphasis on her point, “because we have a big day ahead of us!”

“Uhhhh, we do?”

“Yes, yes, yes! We have to go shopping for school clothes—“

“—what are we _eight?—“_

“—apartment furniture—“

“—the apartment’s furnished...sorta.”

“—Seriously, you’re so lucky I moved in because this place is so _bland._ We’ll pick up some paint too. If you want, I can get you a bed frame—“

“—whoa, whoa, whoa—“

“—and not to mention all the stuff we need to get Mikasa—“

Christa continued to ramble, but Sasha’s one-track mind couldn’t handle much more after mentioning Mikasa. At first, letting her live with them didn’t seem like such a bad idea because _hey_ feeding some eighteen year old isn’t really that hard. But if Mikasa was pregnant, that meant she needed to eat really well, have regular doctor’s visits and eventually buy new clothes. Not to mention that if Sasha was going to have any hopes of finding her a job, it would have to be one where she wouldn’t be doing anything strenuous. Plus there was so little she knew about Mikasa: did she have health insurance? Family? Does her family know about the baby? Is that why they kicked her out? Or did she runaway?

Did she even plan on _keeping_ the baby?

“Christa,” Sasha cut once her internal thoughts were too loud for just her to be aware of. Her voice was a bit sharp. “Slow down.” Promptly, she stopped talking. “Where is Mikasa, anyway?”

Annie emerged from her bedroom, dressed in workout clothes and a fresh layer of sweat. “Puking her guts out,” she took the towel around her shoulders and patted her forehead dry before she started bustling around the kitchen. “Sasha, can I use your coffee maker?”

“Sure thing. Can you bring me a cup?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks.” Sasha turned back to Christa. “That’s how you wake a roommate up.”

The comment rolled off Christa like water on a duck, her smile still there, and just as she was about to run her mouth again when Mikasa stumbled out of the bathroom looking messy and terrible, like bad graphics from a 1990s video game. Or something like that. Sasha’s brain was too foggy to come up with a better simile.

“How ya feelin’?” Sasha asked and Mikasa gave an unconvincing “thumbs up” before she sat herself down at the kitchen table; she laid her head down with a thump and gave a quiet groan.

When the coffee was ready Annie brought Sasha a mug as promised, and set down a cup of tea for Mikasa. “Drink this, it should settle your stomach,” was all she said before she took her coffee and headed back to her room.

“Mikasa!” Sasha breathed a sigh of relief when Christa got off the couch and skipped over to the kitchen table, leaving her free to try and go back to sleep; fat chance that was. “Want to go shopping today?”

She sipped on her tea. “For what?”

“Well…don’t you need a few things?”

Mikasa frowned. “You don’t have to treat me like a charity case. You’re already letting me stay here, I really don’t need anything more.”

In what appeared to be an unnecessary intimate gesture on Christa’s part, she laid her hand over Mikasa’s and gave it a squeeze. Sasha snickered at the look Mikasa pulled. “I don’t consider you charity. You’re my friend.”

“You _just_ met me.”

“Friends have to meet at one point or another, right? Look, I can get you a proper bed, some clothes—“

“ _No,”_ Mikasa said firmly. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t want you to spend all this money on me.”

Unperturbed by Mikasa’s declination, Christa shrugged. “It’s not my money, it’s my dad’s. And he throws it my way because he has to. So really, it’s begging to spent.”

 _That_ perked Sasha’s interest. Girl with Daddy issues. “He _has_ to?” she reiterated.

“You bet he does.” Her tone was still chipper, although noticeably strained. “Tons of it.”

A million and one reasons popped into her hyper mind, but Sasha went with the most likely one. “Dad cheat on your Ma?”

“Something like that,” Christa grunted out and went back to putting on her best smile. “Come on Mikasa, you’ve got a baby to think about! At least let me get you the bed.”

Mikasa continued to sip on her tea, appearing more nervous than she was before. Sasha thought back to the possibilities she came up with and asked, “Hey, Mikasa…do you even want to keep the baby?”

Christa didn’t say anything, but her entire frame jolted, and she withdrew her hand like Mikasa was fire; however, Mikasa didn’t appear to notice. Or at least she elected not to acknowledge it. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s complicated.”

The air in the apartment became stale and stuffy, and no one offered up a word. When Ymir came stumbling out of her room, determined to take a piss and then go right back to bed, even she (in her sleep drunk stupor) could tell something was up, evidenced by her detour to the kitchen to try and get a read on the situation.

“We can talk about it a little later, maybe tonight or tomorrow, yeah?” Sasha asked, and that earned relaxed postured from both of them. “But first things first, you should probably see a real doctor.”

“Sasha’s right.” The hand she retracted minutes before found its way back on Mikasa’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “I can arrange for you to see my doctor, and I’ll take care of all the costs, okay?”

That, Mikasa had no argument for, which Sasha was thankful. “But before that I guess,” She rolled her eyes and instantly regretted what she was about to say, especially when she noticed the shit-eating grin growing on Christa’s face, “…we could go shopping.”

“Yay! But Sasha?”

“What?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you wash your hair.”

Mikasa tried to hide her smirk behind her mug.

 

* * *

  

The shopping trip proved to be even more exhausting than Sasha could have even imagined.

Annie tagged along, but Ymir declined, saying she had to spend the day sleeping before she picked up the late shift tonight, but Sasha saw her wander into her room with a bottle of whiskey before they all left.

Christa was right when she said she—her father—had a lot of money. In one day, Christa bought a full bed set for Mikasa, a bed frame for Sasha, a jacket Annie had apparently been eyeing, various clothes and shoes for all of them (Mikasa had insisted somewhere cheap like Wal-Mart or Target, but Christa explained she didn’t _do_ cheap, not when it came to clothes) and lastly furniture for the living room, including a new couch.

It totaled to be like _5,000_ dollars and Sasha wanted to _cry._

“Why do we need a new couch?”

The look Christa gave Sasha actually had her thinking she might be crazy. “That thing is about to fall apart. Trust me, it’s needed.”

“It’s called _character.”_

“Shut _up.”_

After their eventful day started to come to a close, Annie managed to convince Christa to drive to the super Wal-Mart (which Sasha was so thankful for) right off the highway of the university so they could get groceries. Christa seemed apprehensive at first, judging by how she wouldn’t stop drumming her finger nails on the steering wheel and the fact that she distractedly drifted into the left lane, like, three times, and that’s when Sasha realized Christa was one of them _organic types._

“Organic food is healthier!” she defended, and waggled her finger at Sasha, meeting her eyes in the rear view mirror. “And you shouldn’t eat so much red meat!”

Remembering the pizzas they ate last night, Sasha asked, “Are you a vegetarian?”

Annie answered for her. “Yes,” she said, bored. “And she’s thinking about becoming a _vegan.”_

Sasha gasped in outrage, ignorant to Mikasa’s small amused smile from the passenger’s seat. “Have a little respect for yourself,” Sasha chided, and Christa rolled her eyes. She made a promise to take them all to an organic farmer’s market next time, but pulled into Wal-Mart regardless, tired and ready to go to sleep.

They separated as soon as they got inside; Christa dragged Mikasa away to the market side to help her pick out food while Sasha and Annie drifted to the back of the store and started digging through the $5 movie bin. There wasn’t anything good that she could find, although she noticed Annie kept picking up a DVD copy of Space Jam. But after a few minutes, Sasha eventually made an interesting find. Discreetly, she stuffed the DVD in the basket under the guise of some crappy Matt Damon movie and a gross looking romantic comedy and left Annie to her internal struggle on whether or not she should join the Tune Squad and buy the stupid movie.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week before school started was pretty uneventful; most college kids were returning to dorms and surrounding apartment complexes—Sasha had the fun task of figuring out the bus route to get around to all her classes. Most of her classes were right outside the main campus off the main highway exit where there was a big enough green area for a veterinarian school, but she did have one annoying class on main campus, so the fight to get a bus was real.

Christa had said that the furniture would arrive throughout the week, but she specifically asked that the living room furniture (with the couch) be brought at latest possible on a Saturday morning while Ymir was at work so that they could _surprise her._ Sasha still wasn’t sure if Ymir would be happy with a new couch, or pissed. She was hard to read like that.

Meanwhile, Christa made Mikasa a doctor’s appointment, but the conversation they had started about choices had met a dead end and never really picked back up. Well, at least until Thursday when Sasha set Mikasa down at the kitchen table and slid a copy of _Juno_ across her way.

“Say you’re Juno,” Sasha began, and already, that was enough so send Ymir into a fit of giggles. Ignoring her, Sasha prompted, “No, like, say it. Out loud.”

Mikasa looked at Annie and Christa for support, but they just shrugged, clearly just as lost as she was. “I’m Juno,” she finally said with a sigh.

“Option 1,” she said, “You can get an abortion.” Sasha’s eyes flickered Christa’s way, wondering if she’d get the same reaction as last time, but she appeared completely calm. “Option 2, we look in the Pennysaver and find you a Vanessa Loring, and Option 3…” She paused, eyes rolling to the ceiling in thought. “Well option 3 wasn’t executed in _Juno_ , but I wasn’t going to spend 5 dollars to buy a shitty movie like _Knocked Up_ just to prove a point.” She took a breath. “But! Option 3 is that you keep the baby, either raise it as a single mom, or you go find Paulie Bleeker and make an honest man of him. Whichever you want."

Mikasa just stared.

“Three choices,” Sasha reiterated, holding up three fingers as a visual. “Three perfectly good, respectable choices. You just have to make one.”

When Mikasa sighed, she thought she heard the traces of a whimper.

Ymir finished chugging down her cranberry and vodka. “By the way, who is the Paulie Bleeker?” she paused. “Or is it too hard to narrow it down?”

 _“Ymir!”_ Christa chided, and even Annie tossed her a rude glare.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mikasa answered, and all three of them could tell it was _so_ not up for further discussion. “I’m never going to see him again.” A (for lack of a better word) pregnant pause settled over them and eventually, Mikasa tugged on the red scarf she never seemed to take off and looked up, asking, “What would you guys do?”

“Who cares what we’d do,” Annie said immediately. “You need to do what _you_ want to do.”

A chord had been struck. Mikasa’s calm and impassive expression fell to make way for a more hysterical one as tears pricked in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t have a home, I don’t have a job, and I don’t have money.” Her voice cracked and wavered. “I can’t raise a baby, even if that’s what I want to do. I _need_ to be able to give a kid more."

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about because you have a home.”

Sasha didn’t expect that from Ymir. All the girls turned their head her way and found her sipping on some more vodka. “You live with us now,” she shrugged. “You’re pretty cool—I don’t care if you stay.”

“Yeah!” Christa cheered. “You live here!”

“We can get you a job,” Annie explained, “The money will come eventually.”

Getting up from the table, Sasha rounded the chairs and went to stand beside Mikasa, laying her hands on her shoulders. “We got your back so you can do what you _want._ Now how does that sound?”

“If we're being fair, it _sounds_ like a train wreck,” Annie grumbled. "Although the intentions are good."

“Or a terrible sitcom,” Ymir offered.

“It'll be fun!” and Annie smiled when she elbowed Christa in the ribs.

“It’ll be,” Sasha searched for the best word, and settled on, “…interesting. That’s for sure.” Mikasa looked visibly more relaxed, but there was still a trace of apprehension that stemmed from guilt, if Sasha had to guess. “I know that it’s hard taking freebees when you’re down like this. Trust me, I know. But if I hadn’t accepted help when I was in trouble back then, I wouldn’t be able to offer it now. Get it?”

She nodded. “You’re really going to help me?” Mikasa looked out at the rest of the girls. “Because I don’t blame you if you don’t.”

“Of course!”

“Yeah.”

“Told you we would.”

“Absolutely.”

It was quiet for a long time. A  _long long time._ But she made her decision (a decision she thinks she already made a long time ago) "I'm going to keep it."

Sasha smiled. "Okay. We'll go from there."

"Thank you."

Ymir hopped off the couch and headed for the kitchen. “Don't thank us yet,” she warned, and grabbed piece of fruit off the counter. “It’s gonna be one hell of a ride, Juno.”

That much Sasha knew was true.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday morning, Christa waited for Ymir to leave for her mid-afternoon shift at work before she started packing up the sparse living room furniture to make room for the moving guys who were bringing a couch, chairs and coffee tables. Unfortunately for Sasha, she really needed to spend the day practicing and riding the bus routes like a nerd to make sure she could make it from Main Campus to the Vet Campus in time for all her classes. Christa liked this idea—she wanted to let it be the biggest surprise ever. Whispering to Annie and Mikasa to not let her get away with anything too crazy (i.e, protect Bambi at all costs), Sasha left, already anxious for the results.

Sasha took her time after she got the bus routes down and decided to kill an hour or so eating a nice lunch at the restaurant she and Mina used to go to all the time. Normally she didn’t drink alcohol during the day but she opted for a little something to settle her nerves, which of course turned into a full-on buzz that left her feeling even warmer in the hot summer heat. The walk back was painful, but it was all replaced with a chill that ran down her spine when she returned to the apartment.

The new furniture Christa picked out was nice—pale blue and white pallet with some splashes of a sunny yellow stitched in decorative pillows. The wood was dark, which was good because Sasha had a tendency to scuff  and scratchthings. It looked nice enough but it was kind of strange not seeing Ymir’s couch in the room. After assuring she had done a good job, Sasha wandered into Ymir’s room and peeked inside—she frowned when she noticed the couch wasn’t there. “Christa, where’s Ymir’s couch?”

“I sold it!”

Oh boy.

“You _sold_ it? Ymir said you could sell it?”

Christa frowned. “N-no, not exactly, but…” she trailed off not having an excuse. She sifted through her pockets and pulled out a small wad of cash. “I made her $120 richer.”

Call it bad luck, fate, or Scene 4A in what could only be described as their poorly humored movie documenting their lives, but the moment Ymir walked back into the apartment could only be described as the calm before the storm of the century.

And Ymir was already _yelling._

“Where’s my couch!?” She screeched, upturning the apartment and storming everyone’s bedroom in search of it. “Did you put it in storage?”

Obviously hoping money would defuse the situation, Christa stuffed the $120 in Ymir’s hands. “No, no, I sold it! Here!”

Later Annie would say it was the shock factor, but Sasha would attribute it to murderous rage that had her planning on stuffing Christa in a bin and pushing her down a fire escape, crush be damned. Ymir went rigid as soon as the bills touched her skin, her eyes trained on nothing in particular, gaze lost. Her knuckles bled white as she balled her face and her face stained an ugly red that her freckles started to look like spots of blood.

“Christa,” she ground out, and each of them took a precautionary step back on account of Ymir sounded like a tiger about to go for the kill. “That couch was very, very important. Do you know _why_ it was important?”

Even Sasha knew it was a rhetorical question, but Christa answered anyway. “…sentimental value?”

Whatever calm Ymir was trying to keep fell in an instant. _“THAT COUCH HAD 15,000 DOLLARS IN IT. IN CASH."_

On reflex, Sasha began to laugh. Whether it was because she thought it was some joke or because if she didn’t laugh she’d cry on her behalf, she had yet to decide. “You can’t be serious!”

When Ymir sunk to the floor, Sasha realized she was completely serious.

Mother _fuck_ that was a ton of money.

“Holy shit,” Annie breathed.

“Oh my god,” Christa tugged at her hair, and tears started to prick in her eyes. “Oh my god, Ymir, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have…I never would have…oh my god,” she let out one last whimper before she started to hyperventilate from the stress.

Meanwhile, Sasha took to yelling. “Why the fuck did you put 15,000 dollars in your couch!?”

“Because fuck banks, that’s why!”

“What!?”

Sasha took a look around: Christa was crying, Ymir’s soul was leaving her body, Annie was baffled and Mikasa….was putting her shoes on?

“Christa what did the guy look like?” Mikasa asked, lacing up her new pair of sneakers. “The guy you sold the couch to.”

She sniffled, giving Ymir one last pity glance. “Uh, he kind of looked like me. Sweet kid. Said he was a med student. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Hair like the early Beatles.”

“Oh man, if he’s a med student and he finds that money he ain’t ever gonna give it back,” Sasha lamented. Broke ass college kids.

Mikasa ignored her comment. “What was he wearing?” she asked as she went to peel Ymir off the living room floor.

“Pink button up and khakis. Real small thing. Wasn’t much taller than Annie.”

 _That_ description was enough to have Ymir snapping back up like a Jack in the Box. “Perfect. A goddamn fucking flower. I can take him,” she growled. “I’ll swipe that couch from right under his ass.”

“He and his roommate are carrying it to their apartment!” Christa exclaimed. “He said he lived on the other side of downtown, off Maria? That’s like 12 blocks! I only sold it 20 minutes ago, I bet he hasn’t looked in the couch yet!”

“We can catch him,” Mikasa declared, tossing shoes Sasha and Annie’s way. “Come on.”

The run down the stairs was comical—there was a lot of pushing and elbowing and skipping steps until they made it to the bottom and out into the street where Christa yelled a prompt “Left!” and all five of them went full speed down the sidewalks.

Mikasa and Annie proved to be the fastest, while Sasha and Christa were the slowest. Normally, Ymir wouldn’t even be bothered to run, but her determination to reclaim all her life savings from a bowl cut stranger was strong, and she was running faster than anyone thought possible. Sasha ran straight into three parking meters on the way, which slowed her down considerably, especially after the third one. (It felt like a knife to her boobs or something. It hurt.) Mikasa was the only one to stop and check if she was okay, which was when Ymir shouted a “Fuck the weak, leave her!” before she and Annie turned a corner, following Christa’s instructions as to where the kid’s apartment were located.

Still, Sasha was by no means slow, and the two of them picked up pace in no time. At this point, Sasha thought there might have been a couple of routes the boys could have taken so on gut instinct, Sasha rounded the corner of 9th instead of heading forward. However, she didn't anticipate the dog walker with the 300 leashes and Sasha's leg caught on a bright blue and green leash with the school mascot on it and she fell, narrowly avoiding scraping her chin against the pavement. While she struggled to get untangled and not step on a yapping dog, Mikasa fucking  _leaped_ over the cluster of dogs like she was a champion hurdler.

"What are you, a goddamn Olympian!?" she shrieked, giving a half ass apology to the dog walker as she got up and started running again.

They ran into a crowd of people waiting to get into a new ice cream shop, so in an effort to part the seas like Moses (she wasn't going to trip again, that's for sure) Sasha screamed, “Pregnant woman coming through!” Which Mikasa was _not appreciative_ of (judging by the pinch to her arm) but it got the people to step out of the way in sheer confusion. At the end of the block was a bigger apartment complex than the one Sasha lived in, where she spotted two boys lugging up an old leather couch, one of which was wearing a pink button up and khaki pants.

Bingo.

“Hey! Hey you!” Sasha screamed, and once their attention could be grabbed, she slowed her pace to a jog so she could catch her breath. “Are you…are you…” she panted, “Did you…aw fuck,” Sasha moaned, and she proceeded to lie down on the hot cement. She had run way too fast _way_ too quickly. The whole world was fucking spinning; she shouldn't have had those margaritas at lunch. “Oh god. Hold please.”

Concerned, the boys set the couch down before one of them knelt down before her—he had more muscle than the gangling blond haired kid, but he was shorter, and he had next to no hair. He smiled and asked (a little on the smug side, if you asked Sasha) “Need some water, kid?”

“The light” she panted, smacking her lips together a few times, “I think I see the light.”

“That’s the sun.”

“Show the dying a little respect, young man.”

Luckily for all of them, Mikasa and all her pregnant glory was still in shape and wasn’t out of breath. “Did you just buy this couch from some cheery little blond girl?”

“Yeah,” the blonde boy drawled, peeling his eyes from Sasha to the couch like it was suddenly diseased. “Why, is something wrong with it?”

“GIVE ME MY COUCH!” Ymir, Annie and Christa materialized from across the street and crossed the road without looking; Annie had to pull Ymir out of the way before she got run over by a Prius.

The bald kid looked at them strangely, while the little blond one kind of looked like he wanted to piss his pants, in Sasha’s opinion. “What? Why?”

Ymir started yelling in her mother tongue of  _Arabic_ which Sasha knew was a sign she was at her wits end. “What she means,” Christa tried to explain, holding a very angry Ymir back, “is you can have the couch, but do you mind if we grab something first? She left something...very important in the cushions. I would have taken it out before I sold it to you had I known.”

The blonde and blue-eyed, early-yeared Paul McCartney relaxed considerably when he recognized Christa. “Oh, yeah, no problem!” and he flashed them a dazzling grin. He gestured to the couch. “Be my guest.”

Ymir was damn well ready to rip the couch open to shreds right then and there and claim what was rightfully hers, but luckily she wasn’t too drunk to realize that taking 15,000 dollars out of a couch in the middle of a busy street was a bad idea. “….It’s kinda valuable. I’ll grab it once we get this thing lugged inside.”

The boy, who introduced himself as Armin, told them they didn’t need to help bring in the couch, that they could handle it. But seeing as he had noodles for arms and Ymir didn’t want the couch toppling over and spilling all her money out, she forced Annie to help the bald boy (whose name turned out to be Connie) get the couch into the apartment. Christa got a “get out of jail” free card because she was small and weak, Mikasa got one because she was pregnant (despite the fact that she was probably the strongest; she had already done enough running) and Sasha got one on account of once Connie helped her on her feet, she ran into a fourth fucking parking meter before she leaned into the street and threw up. (Fucking margaritas)

“Here,” Mikasa had mumbled once they had all made it inside Connie and Armin’s apartment; she handed Sasha her gym membership card. “I think you need this more than I do.”

Sasha whined. “That was _mean,”_ but she took the card back regardless. The girl had a point.

Armin was surprised about the money in the couch, and said he was happy Ymir had come back and gotten it—he _said_ he would have given it back if he had ever found it, but Connie seemed like the more honest one when he said he would keep that shit and buy a motorcycle. Ymir rewarded his honesty with ten dollars, which made him happier than a dead pig in the sunshine.

Luckily, the boys had a leftover cardboard box that Ymir used to stuff all the cash in; she went a little gung-ho with the tape, giving it about four layers. Sasha did not want to be around when she needed a flame torch and an act of God to get that box open again.

“I’ve had enough excitement for the day,” Annie declared, and bid her curt goodbyes. “I’m going to Bertolt’s. See you guys around.” Ymir and Christa followed shortly after, leaving the room with a conversation that began with, “When did you learn _Arabic?”_ Mikasa started up a conversation with Armin, apparently striking a shared interest in this sea portrait he had hung up on the wall, which left Connie to plop on the couch beside Sasha. He stuffed a pillow behind her back and handed her a glass of lemonade. “You don’t go running much, do you?”

“I was running for my life!” She defended. “Do you know what Ymir would have done to all of us if we didn’t get that money back?”

“She mentioned something about starting a taxidermy project so, yeah, I can imagine.”

Sasha laughed, blushing when lemonade dripped from her nose. “Fuck,” she cursed, “I’ve done nothing but made a fool of myself in front of you guys today. I’ve really been at my worst.”

Connie shrugged, not denying the statement, which was a little rude. You’re always supposed to deny that kind of shit, it’s what _friends do._ “If this is your worst, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She asked that smooth motherfucker to lunch sometime next week.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, thanks so much for the overwhelming feedback! This chapter should have answered a few questions I received concerning Mikasa's pregnancy. And just in case I get anymore, she's not lying or or tricking the girls about her pregnancy, she's "for shiz up the spout", as Juno would say. Hope you enjoyed! Please give back any feedback you have, I'd love to hear it!


	3. a gun named clint eastwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha finds free medical care for Mikasa, but at an awkward price; Ymir does some internet research, and Annie's face is a mess.

_August 9th_

_._

“I don’t know about this.”

Mikasa’s apprehension did nothing to deter Sasha’s calm and glorious mood. After all, finding Mikasa _free_ medical care without the help of Christa’s money or doctors had been all her own doing, so she was feeling pretty damn proud at the moment.

It was a simple solution. Sasha remembered that the medical programs at the Trost teaching hospital were always looking to pay for volunteers to do medical studies. College kids fragile mental states made for perfect psychological studies. She’d know. She and Jean got 30 bucks for one last year.

So imagine her luck when she stumbled upon the oh-so-glorious opportunity where they were looking for actual college-aged pregnant women. Score.

“Relaaaaax,” Sasha yawned and folded her hands behind her head, rocking dangerously back in her chair. Mikasa had warned her twice about falling, but her balance was _impeccable._ Besides, they were in a hospital, if stitches were needed, the ER was just a wing away.“They might be students but they aren’t allowed to do _anything_ without a senior doctor’s approval. You’re gonna be just fine.”

While she nodded, Mikasa didn’t look all that convinced. “Yeah, I guess.”

It was a few more minutes before there was a knock on the door and one of the senior doctors came in, professional smile and all. He was a gorgeous man with a chiseled chin and biceps the size of planets that had Sasha wondering if he was going to rip off his shirt and star in the next Marvel superhero movie.

“I’m Doctor Erwin Smith,” he introduced himself and gave them both a firm handshake. His eyes lingered on Mikasa. “You must be Miss Ackerman.”

For a split moment, Sasha was completely jealous she wasn’t the one pregnant. She wouldn’t mind his hands all over her.

“Your student doctor will be here momentarily; I just wanted to introduce myself first. I’ll be overseeing all your visits via that webcam,” he pointed to small circular orb attached the ceiling. “To make sure everything is going as planned. The sessions are viewed live by me and while many cases are recorded for learning purposes, we’ve made special accommodations for your case to not be recorded so as to protect your privacy. If there happens to be any particularly invasive exams or a need for more specific care due to any circumstance, we’ll remove you from the simulated room and I will take over, and the student will just be there to take notes. Good?”

Mikasa nodded numbly.

“I’ve selected the top of my class—an exceptionally bright and kind student, one of my best in years. You shouldn’t have any problems. But if he makes you uncomfortable in _any_ way, I urge you to inform him of his mistakes so that he may correct them. If you wish to address me in private, please feel no hesitation. While we are training students, your personal care and health regarding your unborn child are of utmost importance, and this whole thing can be dropped if problems arise.  Any questions?”

“…Can Sasha stay?”

“That’s fine.” Doctor Smith turned over a few papers for her to sign—contracts to let the student publish any notes he takes (her name and identity disguised) before he headed out to the viewing room.

“Wow,” Sasha whistled, the door still swinging shut before he was completely out of the room. “He is _smokin’.”_

Mikasa’s response was unusually immediate and enthusiastic—a dreamy sigh. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but clamped it shut, suddenly looking embarrassed. “He’s probably watching us right now.” she whispered, and Sasha laughed.

“ _Good._ Let my interest be obvious.”

A few seconds passed and there was another warning knock before the student doctor walked in. Another good looking blonde with stomach-dropping familiarity.

“…Armin?”

Sasha lost her balance and fell out of her chair.

There was a _flash_ of surprise in his eyes, but it went just as quickly as it went as Sasha scrambled to set up the chair. Doctor Smith had been right about his professionalism. If it were Sasha who walked in on a situation like this, she wouldn’t have been so graceful. Armin looked down at the clipboard and back up at Mikasa smiling. “They’ve given you a simulated name to protect your identity,” he explained, “I can still use that, or would you prefer I—“

“Just use my real name, it’s fine,” Mikasa mumbled dejectedly and it was then Sasha started to feel a bit guilty. She had promised Mikasa a stress-free environment and now one of the few friends she had made in the city knew she was pregnant. Not only that, he would be frequently checking her stomach, poking her breasts, and probably looking up her goddamn vagina.

Whoops.

_♪ ♫  Mmmbop ba duda dop  ♪ ♫_

Sasha damn near jumped through the roof when her phone started blaring Hanson in that stark white and boring doctor’s room. She had to dig through her monster of a backpack stuffed with new syllabi and text book receipts to find her beat up phone. All the while she could _feel_ Armin desperately trying to latch on to whatever professionalism he had left while Mikasa mumbled something about bad taste in music. All chances with Captain America were probably shot to hell (as if she had a shot to begin with) and she grabbed the still ringing phone, clutching it in her palm.

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” she apologized to Armin and Mikasa, already on her way out. “I’ll be right outside, okay? Don’t let him do anything weird,” she teased, closing the door before she could get a look at his reaction.

Taking a seat in a hallway bench, Sasha flipped the phone open with a hefty sigh. “What’s poppin’ Pixis?”

 _“Alexandra,”_ her grandfather said, voice aged like wine, _“You never called me back like you said you would.”_

Sasha drew another long breath. “Sorry, it’s been a busy few months. The sun never sets on the British Empire, and a queen’s work is never done.”

He laughed. _“The consort a little more east of Denmark would give you a better excuse.”_

 “Fine,” she sighed, “I was busy with the Bol _shits_ Revolution and a rat named Sputin. Not to mention the whole murder situation.”

 “ _Rasputin, not Ratsputin. But the Bolshevik one was pretty good.”_

Down the hall, a male nurse was wheeling a coughing woman down the hall to another wing. Sasha eyed a small set of wheelchairs in the corner and wondered if she’d get caught wheeling herself someday in a drag race of _ill_ proportions “Why’d you call?”

 _“You know why I called,”_ he said softly.

A searing feeling flared in the pit of her stomach and Sasha had to fight back the urge to vomit and cry all at the same time. Her words knotted and _burned_ in her throat but she tried to do her best. “I really don’t want to get into this right now.”

 _“Alexandra.”_ The way he said her name was hollow, desperate, and slightly fuzzy from bad connection. It reminded her all too well of the very hospital she sat in. Silence stretched on where she thought a lecture would go, one about rekindling relationships and forgiveness she didn’t want to give. But instead, Pixis said, “ _You have to face the music sometime.”_

Outside, an ambulance roared to life before it started down the streets to save who knows who from who knows what. The siren pounded in her ears and she tried to keep hearing it even when the ambulance was long gone, because then she didn’t have to pretend it was her heart drumming a wild solo in her ribcage.

“It’s the same old tune every time,” Sasha finally said. “I’m tired of listening to it.”

  _“The silence won’t be much better.”_

Frustration pounced on her every nerve and she rubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes. “Can we drop the convoluted metaphors?”

Pixis only laughed. _“Fine, fine—but you started it.”_

Another small silence played on, but she knew her grandfather was still on the phone. She took a long breath; the air smelled like antiseptic and she wanted to leave. “How is he?” she finally asked, voice reluctant and soft.

 _“Misses you,”_ her grandfather said without missing a beat. _“Asks for you constantly. You should answer his calls. You kept his number, right?”_

She did, but only so she could save it as a contact and ignore it without question every time he called. “I can’t talk to him.” she squeaked out pathetically.

It was like he didn’t hear her. _“Better yet, pay him a visit. He’d really love that.”_

“I just _can’t.”_

_“Yes you can, Pumpkin. You are so much stronger than you think.”_

Her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m not so sure about that.” As always her mind drifted for an out whenever things got too much for her. “I mean, just last week I ran like 8 blocks and threw up.”

The change in atmosphere did them both some good. She could practically see his stupid smug grin. _“How many times have I told you about running with a stomach full of booze?”_

Damn, not too far off the mark there. “You know me too well.”

_“My point exactly.”_

Her phone started beeping and at first she thought it was actually breaking under the weight of this unforgiving emotional and adult conversation until she realized it was just another person on the line. A strange occurrence because no one really ever called, much less did any two people call her at the same time. “There’s someone on the other line,” and even though it was true, he probably thought she was fibbing.

_“Alright, I’ll let you go. But at lease promise you’ll come see old Pixis, soon? You’re long overdue for a visit.”_

Sasha smiled, finally feeling relaxed since she picked up the phone. “Yeah, I will. Love you, Grandad.”

_“I love you too. Talk to you soon.”_

It took a few moments of mindless button pushing for Sasha to figure out how to get to the other line, but eventually the beeping ceased ringing in her ear. “Hello?”

_“Sasha? Hey, it’s Connie.”_

She couldn’t help the wide grin that grew on her face. She and Connie had gotten lunch with Armin and Marco just last week, and she really enjoyed his company—he was right up to speed with her humor and short attention span, which she took a liking to. “Springah!” She declared, lazy with the last syllable, “How you doin’ man?”

_“Mighty fine, little lady, thanks for asking. Waiting for Armin to get back from his little medical school thingy-mabob.”_

Sasha let out a more than nervous laugh; she’d cross that bridge another day. “I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it.”

She heard a snort on the other end. _“That’s what I’m afraid of. Listen, I just wanted to call and ask if I could borrow a skirt.”_

Never in a million years did she think a boy would be asking her to borrow a skirt. It was a strangely amusing thing. “A skirt?” she laughed. “What for?”

_“Can’t a guy want to feel pretty now and then? Fuck your gender roles.”_

She laughed again and mentally went through what little clothes she owned: not enough overalls, too many worn out tank tops, and more worn graphic tees from the thrift store than she’d like to admit. But alas. “I don’t own any skirts,” Sasha clicked her tongue. “Sorry.”

 _“What!”_ Connie screeched, so loud Sasha had to pull the phone back a smidge. _“How can you not own a skirt? You’re a girl for crying out loud.”_

“Fuck your gender roles.”

He hummed on the other end of the line. _“Fair enough. Well, thanks again.”_

“That’s it? No explanation on why you need the skirt?” she paused, thinking it over. “What kind of skirt did you want anyway? Because I was thinkin’ those long nun lookin’ ones but now I’m fearin’ you’re wantin’ one of them miniskirts.” Her accent slipped out on that last part, something that happened when she had more than one thing on her mind to distract her.

Connie’s voice was mockingly husky. _“Mmm, talk more Virginia Tidewater to me, babe.”_

“This ain’t no Viriginia Tidewater, ya prick. I ain’t never been to Virigina in mah _life.”_ She corrected smugly, but she was surprised to hear Connie’s obnoxious laugh on the other end.

_“You’re something else. Well, I gotta go buy a skirt. Catch you later.”_

“Buy a wig too,” she mumbled, but he had already hung up before she got it out.

She greeted the silence well and took a few minutes to sitting in the hallway trying to do anything but think. Her eyes did the wandering to stare at mediocre paintings the hospital had bought and to people watch when new patients and old doctors wandered down the hall. Armin had scuffled out of Mikasa’s room without sparing her a look down her part of the hallway, a vile of blood in his hands, and came back a good fifteen minutes later. When he spotted her outside, he smiled and gave her a wave before he went back in.

Eventually, Armin and Mikasa came out of the exam room looking more than embarrassed. He gave her a polite handshake and headed down the hallway before Mikasa slowly made her way to Sasha’s bench.

“Hey,” Sasha greeted, starting at Mikasa and trying to get a read on just what went down in the operating room. “How’d it go?”

She fixed her gaze on the window behind Sasha’s head. “He drew my blood to confirm I’m pregnant. Which I am.” She sighed, quick and heavily. “I’m 9 weeks along, which, after he rubbed all that blue goo all over my stomach, is apparently not always long enough to get a typical ultrasound.”

Sasha began to try and piece that puzzle together. “Oh, God,” she whispered, trying so hard, so _very_ hard to keep her voice on the mortified side instead of absolutely amused at Mikasa’s expense. “I’m so sorry,” and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. “So. He. Did he…” she made a bunch of ridiculous and obscene hand gestures that earned some more than worrisome looks from a passing doctor “Up your….”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes, looking puzzled. “What are you...?” Realization hit and she blushed to the tips of her ears. “No, no, he said we could just wait another three or four weeks,” and Sasha didn’t miss the “Thank God” she mumbled under her breath. Reaching into her bag, Mikasa withdrew a neatly folded piece of paper. “He did give me a list of prenatal vitamins and dietary suggestions.”

Curious, Sasha took a gander, snatching it with dramatic flair: it wasn’t that bad, certainly something Christa would love to get her hands on—hippie diets. A thought crossed her mind when she saw Mikasa tugging at the sleeves of her lightweight sweater, stretching the fabric over her knuckles. While Mikasa was better built with more muscle than Sasha ever had, she had to wonder if she’d lost any significant weight while she was bumming around the streets. “Did Armin say anything about malnourishment?”

“He said I was anemic, so he wants to keep an eye on that.” Mikasa admitted.

She tried _really_ hard to keep the panic from flashing in her eyes, but it slipped out before she could reel it back in. “You haven’t been bleeding have you?” Sasha asked, and relief washed over like a wave when she shook her head. “Good. We’ll get you some iron tablets, and all this other junk. You won’t be able to see your toes in no time.”

“I can’t wait,” she said flatly, but a gentle half smile bloomed on her face nonetheless.

They were walking out of the hospital when Mikasa nudged her in the ribs and asked, “By the way, Hanson? Really?”

Sasha shrugged. “Everyone in my contacts has a special ringtone,” which was pretty much true, at least of all her friends; it had started out as a joke and then become a full-fleshed challenge that she never really grew out of.  Annie didn’t have one yet, but Ymir had one (Dancing Queen) as did Christa (Money, Money, Money) and of course, Mikasa’s had been an obvious choice. "I'm trying to make all of ours ABBA songs."

“ _Don’t_ tell me mine’s Mamma Mia.”

“It’s _100_ percent Mamma Mia.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they returned to the apartment, Mikasa immediately excused herself for a nap before she went job hunting for the day. Christa and Annie were still out, which left only Ymir who was sitting on the new couch with her computer in her lap.

“Whatcha doin’?” Sasha asked as she grabbed an apple off the counter and bounded over to the couch, displeased with the lack of bounce the new furniture.

Ymir hummed which wasn’t a fucking answer, so Sasha took the liberty of craning her head and peeking at her screen—all she saw was Christa’s name. “Are you googling her?” she asked, tone caught between amusement and confusion. “Way to be creepy.”

“Shut up,” Ymir snarled, but her face remained passive, clearly engrossed in whatever she was reading. “I was wondering what her dad did that got her so much money, so I tried googling her name to see if anything came up.”

“And?”

“Nothing,” Ymir shook her head, surprised. “It’s weird. I looked up the name “Renz” to see if there were any doctor or lawyers in the state, or maybe even some celebrity, but I didn’t see anything.”

Sasha shrugged. “There’s a lot of doctors and lawyers around, you’re not going to find everyone on the internet.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Ymir rolled her eyes before chewing on her bottom lip. “But I can’t even find Christa. She doesn’t have a facebook, or a twitter, or anything.”

“So? I don’t have a facebook or twitter.”

Ymir tossed her an exasperated look. “But you’re country trash without a laptop or a phone from this century.”

“Yo,” Sasha snarled, a warning of some sort, but she didn’t have much else in her to argue. She thought of her Nokia flip phone and guessed Ymir kinda had a point.

“Christa’s got shoes imported from Italy,” she went on to say, “and a phone that’s probably decked out in Swarovski crystals but the girl doesn’t have an Instagram.”

Taking a large bite of her apple, she smacked loudly in Ymir’s ear, causing her to flinch away, disgusted. “I don’t think it’s that weird,” Sasha shrugged. “But if you’re so concerned, just ask her about it.” She watched as Ymir closed her laptop and set it on the coffee table before she lay back down and covered her face with a pillow. “You do still have a wild lady boner for her, right?”

“Shut the fuck up,” which was Ymir speak for _yes._ “I don’t even know why.”

Sasha leaned back opposite and started playing footsie with Ymir, taking another bite of her apple. “What do you mean you don’t know why? She’s sickeningly sweet and incredibly hot.”

“Ugh, I know she is. But I don’t normally go for those kind of girls. Their peppiness is usually a turn off.”

That much Sasha did know about her, which was why this whole thing was odd to her as well. Ymir never went for the girls who looked like they were captain of the cheer squad from high school and looked like they could be fit to be a 1950’s housewife. “There’s got to be something else.”

“There is,” Ymir said immediately, throwing the pillow off her face and onto the floor. “I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Well, when you figure it out, try not to be a creep about it.”

“God, I hate you. Why the fuck did I move in here with you?”

“Because you loooooooove me,” Sasha taunted, leaning in to wrap Ymir in her arms and smack a forceful kiss to her cheek. “So, have you done anything productive other than stalking your roommate on the internet today?”

Ymir grabbed her laptop off the coffee table. “Surprisingly, yes,” and it took a few clicks before she pulled up a bookmarked page of an ad looking for workers at a greenhouse.

It really was surprising. After all of Ymir’s initial reluctance to let Mikasa stay, here she was googling jobs for her. “You found her a job?”

“Maybe. I think Marco can help her out. I think he works there, too, as part of his major or whatever. Botany. Horticulture. Green stuff that grows out of the ground. It’s all the same.”

The ad for the job was short, and lacked a decent description. “You don’t think she’ll have to do any heavy lifting, right? Because she absolutely _cannot.”_

“You act like I’m stupid,” Ymir said snidely. “No, I don’t think so. Marco said it’s mostly watering and trimming back plants and helping snobby hipster people select potted plants and soils for their gardens and shit. He says it’s really easy.” Apparently Sasha’s face must always have been a dead giveaway of heavy thinking (probably because it didn’t happen too often, har har har). She hoped it wasn’t some stupid face. “Relax. I….told him about Mikasa’s condition—“

“Ymir!”

“Oh, shush. If she gets this job, it’s important he knows. Marco won’t let Mikasa do anything to endanger herself, you know that. That kid would take a bullet for anyone.” she sighed, looking wistfully back at the ad on the computer screen. “Which is why I kind of want her to work there. I know she won’t get hurt.”

Sasha loved this side of Ymir. She was a tough and blunt woman, but a total soccer mom at heart. Kind of adorable. “Aww, MirMir! You do care!”

“Call me that again and I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

Laughter aside, Sasha squeezed Ymir on her hip affectionately. “Thanks. We especially need to keep an eye on her after what the doctor said today—said she was anemic.”

Her eyebrows rose inquisitively.  “Anemic? From malnourishment, right? That should be an easy fix. Don’t worry too much.”

“Probably,” but if Sasha’s chewing of her bottom lip said anything, she wasn’t quite convinced. “But just keep an eye out okay? Make sure she takes her vitamins—I’m going to post reminders on the fridge door, and I’ll make a grocery list that I’m sure Christa will help out with and ooh—we got to buy her some herbal tea because she can’t have black tea anymore because it’s too caffeinated—“

She stopped at the sound of Ymir’s laughter, unusually light and airy. “Mikasa’s a big girl, I’m sure she’s got that all under control.” Lowering her voice, she continued, “I know you’re really scared about any bump in the road—“

“I can’t _help_ it,” Sasha intervened. “You know I can’t help it,” she repeated, voice like a whisper, voice like a ghost lost in the wind. Ymir, due to a particularly rough bar shift and a drunken party, was the only one of her friends who knew what happened with Sasha’s mother.

“I know why you’re scared, I get it, I really do.” Ymir smiled and tucked a strand of Sasha’s hair behind her ear. _Such_ a mom at heart. “But she’s going to be fine. Mikasa and her baby are going to be just fine.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Sasha said a little sourly, and Ymir’s gentle hair stroking stopped to make way for a teasing tug that made her scalp prick.

“Oh, yes I do. Because me and everyone else in this house is going to drive her up the wall making sure this baby is the healthiest baby in the goddamn world. I’ll happily snatch any tea she tries to smuggle and toss it into the harbor like the true American citizen I pretend to be.”

“You know what else you could do?” Clearly a rhetorical question, Sasha reached over and snatched up Ymir’s reusable water bottle that sat on the counter and took a swig—she grimaced. Strawberry, ugh. “Stop drinking vodka from the water bottle and pretending it is water; you sure as shit ain’t foolin’ anyone.” She took another precautionary sip and decided that, well, maybe strawberry vodka tasted a little better than she thought. “What if Mikasa picks it up and thinks it’s water and takes a sip, hmmm?”

“She’s not a toddler. She’d spit it out, dumbass.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“Why the fuck would she drink from my water bottle anyway?”

“She might be really thirsty after a run and not think anything of it!”

“Run? _Run?_ She’s going to be a whale. Whales can’t run.”

“But they drink water!”

Oooh, if looks could kill.

“Stop trying to make this about me,” Ymir eventually ground out, trying and failing to keep her voice without an angry spark.

It was a touchy subject, Sasha knew. Ymir had been a heavy drinker since the day they met and she hadn’t really thought anything of it because at first she had only seen her at parties and bars. It wasn’t until they became roommates that Sasha discovered Ymir drank all day, every day, as opposed to just drinking on her weekend bar shifts. “You drink a lot,” Sasha said as casually as possible, which was tough, because Sasha was so bursting with energy, casual wasn't really her thing. “I just worry. I wouldn’t want you to get sick,” at the sight of Ymir’s eyes rolling and an argument budding at the tip of her tongue, Sasha leaned forward and pressed another sloppy, wet kiss to Ymir’s cheek. “Because I looooooooove you.”

It did the trick to defuse the situation because Ymir snickered, and returned with a kiss to Sasha’s forehead. “Careful with kissing the lesbian. If you start something, you’ll have to finish,” she teased, and Sasha shoved her into the armrest playfully.

“Christa’s nice enough, maybe she’d volunteer to finish for me,” and as Sasha waggled her eyebrows suggestively, she swore there was a light pink dusting on Ymir’s cheeks. “Speak of the little angel, where is she?”

“She got an early start doing her school stuff.” She sat rigid, as if remembering something. “Did you know she’s trying to get into law school?”

Sounded like a joke to her. “Get out!” Sasha barked out with a laugh. “You can’t be serious!” But as Ymir’s face showed, it seemed she was dead serious. “This is incredible.It’s like a real life Legally Blonde. I can’t believe this.”

Ymir grinned. “I’m telling her you said that.”

 “Go ahead. Elle Woods is a feminist icon, she won’t mind.” She poked Ymir in the chest. “It’s a compliment, really.”

As the door to the apartment clicked and jangled with the noise of someone with a key, Sasha pinned Ymir to the couch and smothered her face with a pillow while making obscene noises.

“What the hell are you two doing,” a bored voice called before the door slammed behind. Pretending to make out in front of Annie wasn’t nearly as amusing as it would have been if it were Christa, so Sasha sat up and shrugged out a nonchalant, “Nothing.”

Annie had her back turned as she fixed herself a quick sandwich. Sasha was halfway in between an argument with Ymir about how Christa could totally solve a murder with hair care knowledge when she got up and grabbed a glass of lemonade. But as soon as Sasha was within a few feet of the fridge, Annie turned her back at a subtle angle, leaving her awkwardly standing at the counter while she spread mustard on her bread. Sasha reached around to grab her glass from the counter and realized as soon as she had done that, Annie spun the other way, hiding her face yet again.

Curious, Sasha decided to reach for a new glass instead of using the one she had from the counter; the cupboard with the cups was right above Annie’s head. “Excuse me,” Sasha grunted out as she cut into her personal space and reached her left arm above Annie’s right shoulder. Annie ducked and spun left, grabbing her plate with a half-made sandwich with her; the mustard-covered knife clattered to the ground.

Annie wouldn’t let her see her face.

Challenge _fucking_ accepted.

“Hey,” Sasha tried to be gentle, but her concern made it sound harsher than she had intended. She reached out her hand and laid it on her shoulder, but Annie shrugged her off like her touch was an electric shock. “Annie,” she tried the other shoulder, and she spun again. “Dude,” she laughed, “What’s up?” she started poking her in her sides and again, Annie tried anything in her power to let her bangs hide her face. But fed up, Sasha managed to trip her up by her feet when she was ducking her head and Annie stumbled just enough for Sasha to grab her by both shoulders and give her a good spin to face her. “We all get pimples, it’s no big deal. Let me take a look at old Krakatoa— _holy shit_!”

From the couch, Ymir craned her neck to see what the outburst was about. “What are you—“ she stopped abruptly, hissing at the sight. “That’s got to hurt.”

Annie’s face looked like it belonged in a terrible action movie. Her right eye was bruised blue and purple, and there was a small knot on her cheek with a cluster of broken capillaries. There were a few scratches in her chin, long and angry red, but not really that deep. “What the fuck happened?” Sasha screeched, immediately going for a rag and some ice, although judging by the scabs on her cuts, it was probably something she had been dealing with all day.

“What do you think happened?” Annie rolled her eyes. “Someone wailed on my face,” she winced when Sasha pressed a too eager hand to her eye, and swatted her advances away, grabbing the rag and pressing it to her eye herself.

“You look like a murder victim from CSI!” Sasha snarled, flailing her hands around. “Who the fuck hit you?” Okay, so maybe it was a bit of jumping to conclusions but all Sasha could picture were those two giants that were her boyfriend and her best friend. God, those two boys could probably _knee_ Annie right in the eye, those fuckers. “Be right back,” and before Annie could protest, Sasha disappeared into her room.

It didn’t take long for her to find it. Her possessions were few, and honestly, it wasn’t well hid in her room. She probably should have minded since she was _pretty_ sure it was illegal. When Christa the lawyer girl got back, she’d ask her. A few minutes of digging through the bottom storage bin and Sasha retrieved her trust rifle, Clint Eastwood, locking and loading it, relishing in the familiar click that echoed throughout the apartment.

From the living room, it appeared like Ymir and Annie recognized the sound of her gun, judging by the scream of her name. “SASHA.”

Sasha emerged from her bedroom, rifle in hand. She swiveled to face Ymir and as soon as the barrel of the gun faced even _remotely_ Ymir’s way, she dived behind the couch.  “What the shit?! Why do you have a gun!?”

“What, you think Bambi shot himself?” She swiveled back towards Annie, who ducked and had her hands up in surrender. “Which one was it? The bumbling brunette or the buff blonde?”

“What? What are you—“ Annie froze, eyes widening. “Oh, no, no, no, no, _no_ —“

“You don’t have to be afraid to tell me.” She re-positioned the rifle, and again the entire room flinched. She felt like she was back hunting in the Appalachians with her father again. “Give me a name. I’ll take care of him.”

“Bertolt did _not_ hit me,” Annie explained, and she almost seemed amused at the thought. “Bertolt can’t even kill spiders! He makes me take them outside.”

“So it was Reiner.”

“No.” Annie growled. “Those two would _never_ hit me.” Stomping over, Annie reached for the gun. “Now put that fucking thing down before I have two black eyes.”

Quick on her toes, Sasha held the gun out of Annie’s reach, which was easy considering she was half a foot taller. “Not until you tell me who hit you.”

_“Jesus.”_

Clicking her tongue, Sasha shook her head, strands of ruddy brown hair falling in her face. “I don’t think our Lord and Savior gave you a shiner. I hear he’s not about that stuff.”

Annie looked like she could hit _her_ but she was thankful she had gone back to taking her distance, clearly distressed with the idea of Sasha having a gun. This was just fine, in Sasha’s opinion. That’s why she had the gun: striking fear in the hearts of millions. Well, not really. She just wanted to keep it to go hunting with

“I got into a bar fight,” Annie explained, clearly exasperated. Somehow the rag with ice had managed to get on the floor. “I have no idea who threw the first punch, but I damn well threw the last.”

“Bar fight?” Ymir echoed from behind the couch. Her head peeked over the top. She looked skeptical. “I think I would have heard about a bar fight.”

“Well, that’s what happened, whether you heard it or not.” Annie said defensively, eyes entirely on Sasha as she spoke. “Now put the gun _down.”_

Sasha did as she was asked, lowering the rifle to one side, but the hard stare directed Annie’s way didn’t let up. She wasn’t convinced she was in a bar fight. As she had come to know, Annie wasn’t the most approachable and talkative person, but she certainly wasn’t one to pick petty fights with strangers. That was Sasha's job. The whole thing just seemed off. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sasha asked slowly.

“Yes,” Annie sighed, sounding relieved. “I’m fine.”

Ymir seemed satisfied enough with Annie’s story for now, so Sasha decided to go with it too. “Alright, if you say so.” She picked the gun back up again. “But if you come in here lookin’ like a tornado through a trailer park one more time, Imma do somethin’ bout it, ya hear?”

Annie smirked. “You sound like you should be making moonshine.”

“Shut up.”

Ymir, finally deciding to stop cowering behind the couch, spoke up. “Well, did you at least _win_?”

If possible, Annie’s smirk grew wider. “I don’t lose.”

“Atta girl!”

There was a creaking of a bedroom door and Mikasa wandered out, bleary eyed and messy haired. Looks like they had woken her up from a  short lived nap. “Why are you guys shouting I’m trying to—“

Sasha, gun in hand, flashed a smile. “Hi!”

To Mikasa’s credit, her face was impressively passive. “Why.”

She waved the gun up for show. “I was just about to go and defend Annie’s honor. Would you like to join?” Annie stomped on Sasha’s foot, making her yelp.

“…I’m going back to bed,” Mikasa said flatly, spinning on her heel and returning to her room.

“Suit yourself!” From her pocket, Sasha’s phone buzzed for the third time today. “Jeez, I’m popular today,” she mumbled, fishing her phone out and setting the rifle down on the counter. The contact glowed on the front of the phone and Sasha just stared.

_Calling: Dad_

The phone continued to ring. “Aren’t you gonna pick that up?” Ymir asked.

_Decline_

“Nah. It’s nobody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks again for the feedback guys, I'm glad you're liking it. This chapter was pretty dialogue heavy and tricky to write, but I hope Sasha's viewpoint shone through at least a little bit. I've gotten a lot of questions (both here and over on tumblr) concerning the last unmentioned 104th trainee and I'm working on it! Eren will show up in the story! A lot of people have also questioned the circumstances of how Mikasa got pregnant, and while I will explain it, I want to go ahead and tell you she wasn't raped. Anyway, I hope this chapter was just as pleasant as the last. I received some very constructive advice, and I am trying to use it and improve, so feedback is appreciated! Thanks and have a good day!
> 
> PS: It was personal fun to make Sasha's real name "Alexandra." (Sasha's a nickname for Alexandra) Only Pixis calls her that.  
> PPS: I've done some patient simulation in the past, so I based the Armin-Mikasa encounter off what I did during my encounters. It might be a little bit of a stretch to actually use a pregnant person, so I tried to make it more plausible with Armin working directly under Erwin to make sure everything's grand and dandy.


	4. scale from 1-10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha's got a new job and Connie's got a new skirt.

_August 10th_

_._

The next morning, Sasha ran into Annie standing over the bathroom vanity trying to cover up her bruise, which was especially amusing since she was using Christa’s make up because she didn’t own any of her own. Their complexions were similar, Annie’s probably being a little lighter, but nothing was going to cover that monster of a shiner—at least not with the way she was applying it. There was liquid foundation all over her fingers and she looked like a five year old exploring her mother’s medicine cabinet for the first time.

Naturally, she had to comment.

“What did I say about getting into Mommy’s make-up?”

Annie rolled her eyes but otherwise tried to ignore her. But when she got a lump of foundation in her eyelash, Sasha had to intervene.

“You need a brush,” Sasha said, leaning against the open bathroom door. Annie looked at her through the mirrors reflection (expression unconvincingly pouty and cold) before she looked down at the collection of brushes spilled on the counter.

“…which one?”

She started to point to a round fluffy one with white tipped bristles, and instead found herself leaning off the door and picking it up herself. “This one,” she said quietly, and with little reluctance from Annie, began applying some of Christa’s make up. Sasha tried to be gentle, and she supposed it was working because Annie wasn’t even flinching. That or she was tough as nails. “You don’t normally wear make-up, huh?”

“No,” Annie admitted, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve only ever worn it a few times. I have a habit of smearing it when I’m running or working.” She finally winced when Sasha ran the brush over her eyelid. “If I want some, Bertolt does it for me.”

“What the fuck, that’s so adorable,” Sasha hissed out. “I want Bertolt to do _my_ make-up.”

Annie actually _laughed_. “He’ll do it, if you ask. His mother is this make-up artist. He liked tagging along to studios and weddings when he was little.”

“Can he give me a mean smoky eye?”

“Oh yeah. Hell, he could give you authentic _zombie_ make-up. He’s that good.”

The thought of Bertolt being a normal sized tyke trying to put on some bride’s make up, or even better, some kind of monster mask, made Sasha smile. She, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as versed in the ways of make-up either. She only just started wearing some, now that she could afford it. “Then why isn’t Mr. Friendly Giant in here doing it for you?”

Sasha didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath or the stressful change in Annie’s posture. “He can’t know,” Annie demanded. “It’ll worry him. Any needless stress could give him more panic attacks, and he’s been doing so well lately, especially with his new medication.”

Finishing up with the foundation, Sasha grabbed Annie by the chin and tilted her head, inspecting the long, scabby scratches. “I guess you’ll have to tell him a cat scratched you there,” and while her voice was probably unfairly sour, she didn’t really care. “Or tell him the truth. This isn’t _needless_ stress. You got hurt. It’s his job to worry about you.”

“No, it’s not. It’s my job to worry about myself.”

Putting the brush on the counter, Sasha avoided Annie’s eyes. “I don’t think it’d worry him too much. After all, it was just one fight. Won’t happen again.” She dared herself to meet Annie’s gaze, bruise still poking out underneath her right eye. “…Right?”

“…Right.”

“Morning, girls! How’s everyone—Annie?”

Christa stood wide-eyed at the bathroom doorway. Sasha’s subpar job covering her bruise must have been obvious to a make-up master like her, whose winged eyeliner was always on _point._ She took a step forward and squinted, looking right at Annie’s eye, then at the counter. “Are you wearing my make-up?”

“Yeah,” Annie mumbled, a little embarrassed. “I should have asked first, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay!” she assured in a voice that was way too cheery for someone who just woke up. “It’s just…do you have a black eye?” she asked, and Annie scoffed in what Sasha deemed was an attempt to be aloof. “The coverage is a little uneven. I can see some of the bruising.” She plucked the brush off the counter and asked, “May I?”

Christa wasn’t nearly as slow as Sasha, and Annie winced a lot more this time around. Her fingers moved with practice sweeps and brushes, and in under a minute, she had fixed the bruise and began applying more foundation to Annie’s face.

“My shade isn’t a perfect match, so this will make it look a little more natural,” she explained. “I can help you pick up some of your own, if you’d like.”

Sasha expected Annie to outright refuse, but she was mildly surprise when she mumbled out a, “Sure,” and that sent a little red flag waving about in Sasha’s head. Annie didn’t wear make-up, she had _just_ said so; and she wasn’t the type to say things she didn’t mean.

“What, anticipating another black-eye?” Sasha joked, but to her horror, Annie didn’t say anything.

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence, and Annie finally spoke. “Relax. You look like you’re about to eat your lip the way you’re chewing on it.” And Sasha found when she licked her lips, she tasted blood.

Before they could get into anything further, Mikasa stumbled into the open bathroom and mumbled out an apology before she gently pushed past the girls and fell to her knees beside the toilet, lifting the lid and vomiting into the bowl.

Sasha, being closest, wiggled to the other side to sit on the edge of the bathtub before she reached out and held back Mikasa’s hair. Christa kneeled on the other side and rubbed soft circles into her back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she gurgled, voice muffled by the toilet, “I’m fine. Give me a few minutes. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for being pregnant,” Annie told her with a roll of her eyes. “Did some of that tea I made you the other day help? Want me to make you more?”

“Yes, please.”

Without another word, Annie slipped out of the bathroom, Christa on her heel with foundation brush in hand, explaining she wasn’t finished yet. Mikasa turned her head, obviously about to say something more, but was hit by another wave of nausea. Sasha reached down to pull back a few more stray hairs. “Are you like this every morning?”

“Almost,” Mikasa admitted, leaning up from the toilet with a sigh. “Armin says it’s only temporary. It shouldn’t last more than a few more weeks.”

“Well, I hope you feel better real soon, because—“

Her life had a funny way of making things interesting (read: _fucked_ ) because before she could explain, Annie shouted from the kitchen, “Marco’s here!” There was some more muffled conversation, but Sasha heard Christa go ahead and tell him to walk into the hall where the bath was.

Brows furrowed, Mikasa leaned next to the toilet, still looking a little green. “Marco? Who is--?”

His hand slapped on the doorway before he swung himself into the entryway, smile slightly dimmed from not having his morning coffee. It fell to make way for concern when he noticed the sickly tint to Mikasa’s complexion. “Hey, you okay?”

Mikasa leaned down into the toilet one last time while Sasha answered, “Oh, she’s fine. She just has….” She did some hand gestures that didn’t really portray the definition of “morning sickness” in any sense of the phrase, but Marco was a smart boy and he picked it up.

“Ah,” he drawled sheepishly, “Got it.” Even though she couldn’t see it, Marco smiled at Mikasa. “Take all the time you need.”

Whipping her head back out of the toilet, she gave it a quick flush before taking a glance at Marco—she must have recognized him from their brief meeting in the apartment, because then she turned around and pinched Sasha’s thigh, _hard._ “You _told_ him, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t know it was a secret!” she defended, but Mikasa kept giving her the stink eye as she lazily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Besides, if you’re going to be working together, he’s gonna find out.”

“Working together?”

“…I knew I forgot to tell you something last night.”

 “You didn’t _tell_ her? It’s the most important part.”

“Shut it, Bodt.” Turning to Mikasa, she explained, “I know you’ve been looking, but Ymir and Marco found you a kickass job. Better than working at some dumb store.” Marco nodded along, his grin brightening.

“My boss is really nice, and she’ll pay you well! Besides, we could use the help since we’re about to plant a bunch of new things for the season.”

At the sound of “plant”, Mikasa went from mildly confused, to damn well intrigued; her eyes _lit up_ in a way Sasha could only compare to finding out it was dollar beer night. “Planting? Where is this?”

“A greenhouse!” Marco clapped his hands and rubbed them together vigorously. “It’s pretty big, since the agriculture department down here is a huge deal. We grow all sorts of stuff.”

“Like what?”

Materializing from her bedroom, Ymir pushed past Marco and rubbed her eyes blearily, clearly a little hung-over. “Weed.”

Sasha rolled her eyes while Marco held his hands up in defense and began sputtering about how there was no marijuana to worry about. Typical Marco. “Relax, I was only kidding,” Ymir grunted, and she jabbed him in the shoulder, making him mouth a silent _ow._ “If you’re done puking, I gotta use the bathroom.”

Marco, being the gentleman he is, quickly went over and helped Mikasa to her feet and the three of them left the bathroom, leaving a cranky Ymir to shut the door closed behind her. When they got to the kitchen, Annie was putting the finishing touches on Mikasa’s tea (honey and ginger root) and Christa was dumping the contents of her Italian leather purse on the counter.

“Oh! Before you go, I’ve got something for you two….” Her tongue stuck out as she dug through a pile with receipts, lipsticks, spare change, and a Twix wrapper. (As big a health nut she was, she seemed to have quite the sweet tooth.) Finally she dug up a small list that was folded up, a 100 dollar bill tucked inside. “If you don’t mind Marco, after your little job interview, could you drive Mikasa to the store and make sure she gets all those vitamins she needs?”

“Don’t forget iron tablets!” Sasha intervened, and Christa tapped the list with her manicured hand.

“On the list!”

“100 dollars? Just what kind of vitamins do you think I’m going to buy?” Mikasa asked, staring at Christa’s outstretched hand. Annie came over and slid a mug of herbal tea across the table.

“I thought you could get some groceries for the rest of us while you’re there? If you don’t mind?”

The girls were coming to learn that it was easier to get Mikasa to accept money and help when they let her “return the favor” whenever possible. So getting her to do the shopping was a quick compromise they all agreed on. Blowing on her tea, Mikasa pocketed the money as Marco took a seat beside her and began chatting to her about the new job.

Sasha wandered over to counter and stuck a piece of bread in her mouth. “I’ve got to jet, I’ve got class today,” she caught half the piece of bread before it fell out of her mouth and onto the floor. “Plus I’m starting my new job today,” she told whoever was listening. This, apparently, was only Ymir.

“ _What?”_ She came bounding out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth. Her eyes were round and wild, and combined with the foamy toothpaste spilling out of her lips, she looked like a rabid animal. Definitely sounded like one too with how upset she was. “You got a new job? What about the restaurant?”

Oh. Right. That was the other thing Sasha was supposed to tell them. She really needed to work on that. “Well, I got a job at the animal clinic. Spaces are really limited, especially with so many vet students. I fought tooth and nail for this thing!”

Her hard work went unappreciated, as expected. Ymir’s shoulders slumped and the toothbrush dangled dangerously out of her mouth. “So you’re ditching me? You little shit.”

Sasha shrugged, scrunching her nose. “Sorry. But I mentioned this would happen. Besides, I’ll probably come back and pick up a few shifts time to time!”

“Liar.” Groaning, Ymir headed back to the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth. “I’m not looking forward to breaking in a new waitress. I’m going to have to sling back more shots just to make it through one shift.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Sasha said flatly, stuffing the rest of her bread in her mouth and slipping on her shoes by the door.

“I’m going to die of boredom. Literally. Death by boredom. You’ll have to stuff the adoring roommate you so horrifically abandoned and hang her on the wall.”

“Well, of you wanted to kill some time you could always enroll in—“

_“La la la, I can’t hear you!”_

Sasha laughed all the way out the door.

* * *

The animal hospital was a small teaching hospital on the edge of the main university campus. It was open 24 hours and they took in small and large animals alike: anything from cats and dogs to horses and cows. Being a first year student, Sasha didn’t get to work alongside vets doing all the vitals and such, so her job was mostly paperwork—she sat at the check in desk and told people what to do with their sick little animal friends, passed patient info back and forth between veterinarians, and other smaller tasks.

She didn’t expect much on her first day, mostly mopping up dog piss off the floors. But she was pleasantly surprised at the end of her shift when a young man around her age came striding in with purpose and set down a brown, cardboard box in front of her.

Whatever was inside _mewled._

“Oh?” Sasha hopped out of her office chair and leaned over the counter, pulling at the top lapels of the box. “Sounds like you stole a lion from a zoo,” she joked.

Inside weren’t exactly lions, but five _adorable_ little kittens.

Normally, Sasha would gush at the sight, but these kittens were _young._ Way too small to be separated from their mother. “These are _really_ young,” she told him.

“I know,” he sighed, running his hands through his shaggy hair. “I found them this morning.”

There was a lecture on the tip of her tongue. Sure, the boy probably meant well, but there was a chance he really fucked up. Like, she–and-Jean-got-drunk-and-vandalized-government-postal-property fucked up. But worse, since this involved, you know _, living creatures_. “Stray cats leave kittens in odd places all the time—it doesn’t mean they’re abandoned.”

His brow furrowed, looking slightly ticked off. “I didn’t just _pick_ them up from, uh, a nest or whatever. I know better than that.” He paused, looking off to the side. “Or at least I’m smart enough to Google this shit. Anyway, they were in the backyard.” He pointed to the one off-colored kitten, the grey one among a bunch of sandy colored ones. “The mom was that color. I found her…some feet away from the bush with the kittens. Something…got her,” he finished off with a sad sigh.

Pursing her lips, Sasha took a look at the liter. They all were alive, most of them squirming, another one fast asleep. “That’s unfortunate,” She started chewing on her chapped lip again, making it bleed. “So…what exactly do you need help with?”

The boy looked at her like the answer was obvious, which it was. It’s just he wasn’t going to like what she had to say over the matter. “Well, when I heard there was a vet hospital here, I thought you guys could take them?”

“They’re _really_ small,” Sasha repeated. “We can’t take them. No shelter will.”

His face fell. “What? Why not?”

Grabbing the box with great care, she cocked her head and gestured for the boy to follow her to the back. “Shelters won’t take cats unless they weigh _at least_ three apples and an orange. Or in other words, about two pounds. And even that’s a stretch.” She set the box beside a scale and carefully picked up the largest kitten to her eye. “They have to be bottle fed, and they don’t have the resources or money to do that. They have to be fostered before they can even be considered for shelters.”

The boy groaned, throwing his head back in anguish. “So, what does that mean? I gotta take care of them?”

Sasha set the kitten on the scale. “Or find someone who will.” She mumbled. Probably for the best, considering this kid didn’t look up for the task. The scale weighed in and it was just as she thought—the cat was only 8.2 ounces, maybe two apples at most. She put him back in the box with the rest.

She must have given off mistrust when she said that because his entire aura shifted. He stood tall and resolute, and his eyes shone bright with determination; like he wouldn’t allow anyone to think less of him. “No, I can do it. I’ll do it.”

Sasha arched a skeptical brow. “You will?”

“I will,” he promised, this time a bit more relaxed. “I just…don’t know what to do.”

“That, I can help you with.”

They grabbed the box and walked back to the front so Sasha could pull out any brochures they might have had, along with using the computer to print out anything she knew to be true from the internet. She wrapped up all the papers with a rubber band and handed the box of kittens back to him, telling him to stop by in another two weeks for a status update.

“I put the vet’s number in there too,” she explained as he headed out the door. “Call if you have any questions! Good Luck!”

He gave her a gentle smile and a wave goodbye.

* * *

After hitting up the school library to use the computers for her already existent homework, Sasha returned to the apartment well into the late afternoon, a smoothie in hand, ready to call it day early. What she didn’t expect to find, however, was Connie and Armin in the living room wearing Christa’s clothes.

Well, she _assumed_ they were Christa’s clothes. They certainly weren’t hers. Armin was wearing this lavender number with long gauzy sleeves and a low front cut that revealed his “cleavage” while Connie looked like a straight up disaster in what could only be described as Christa’s loudest clothes—a red skirt and a patterned tank top that was not going to go back to its original shape when he was done with it.

She tried to make a joke, deliver a real good punch line, but all that came out of her mouth was, “What.”

Armin gave her a sheepish grin, cheeks slightly flushed, while Connie absolutely beamed at her, giving a twirl. “Soooo? What do you think?”

Her answer was immediate. “Armin is _waaay_ prettier,” she said. Armin jumped in the air and hollered while Connie looked skeptical.

“Rate us,” he demanded. “Scale from 1-10.”

She gave them another look, and she found when she looked on in better detail, Armin was unfairly prettier than Connie. Come to think if it, prettier than even her. Why the fuck were his legs so nice? _Her_ legs were hairier than his for crying out loud.

“Armin what the hell, you’re hotter than me,” she pouted. “You’re like, an 8.”

Again, Armin beamed, twirling around and striking an impressively feminine pose. Connie rolled his eyes. “Well, if he’s only an 8, then he’s not hotter than you.” Her blush went unnoticed by him. “What about me though!?”

“Oh, God. Like, a 4.”

“Are you fucking serious? You won’t even throw me a nickel?”

She laughed as he started posing, obviously trying to up his score. “Your arms aren’t feminine enough! They’re too muscly.” This was true. Connie’s build was short and a little on the stocky side. “Also, you could stand to shave your legs.”

“Stop pushing your societal implemented gender roles on me! I’m a strong independent woman who don’t need no razor!”

Stifling a laugh, her eyes trailed up his legs to his ass, which was…surprisingly well sculpted in the stretchy material of the skirt. This, didn’t really sit well with her. “Connie, are you wearing underwear?”

“Um, and walk around with unsightly panty lines? I don’t think so.”

“Christa’s going to have to burn that skirt.”

Speak of the devil and she will appear; Christa skipped into the room, a large make-up bag Sasha recognized from this morning and a curling iron in hand. “Alright, Armin! It’s just about heated up and then we can curl your hair.”

What the _fuck_ was going on.

“I didn’t really pin you two for the drag queen types.” Sasha admitted, pulling out a kitchen chair and taking a seat to watch whatever spectacle was unfolding in her living room.

Armin chuckled, looking a little embarrassed. “We’re working on a comedy skit.” He looked to the celling in thought. “Well, Connie is. He’s the brains behind the operation. I just volunteered.”

Connie had mentioned that he was a theater major offhandedly at the lunch they had a while back, but she had pictured more things like Shakespearean plays than silly, goofy Saturday Night Live sketches. But who knows, there was probably some cross-dressing in some of Shakes’ plays too. “Were you aware of the conditions when you volunteered?” she asked.

“No,” Armin shrugged. “But it’s turned out better than I thought it would,” he twirled around, letting the gossamer fabric sway back and forth against his legs. “Skirts are _awesome._ Why don’t you girls wear them all the time?”

“Cause we get Marilyn Monroe’d all the time, among other impracticalities.” She answered, but she was half-distracted by Connie’s mumbled comment about how Armin was only saying that because she had said he was an 8. “So…this is why you wanted the skirt?”

Connie nodded as Christa guided Armin to the kitchen where she had the curling iron hooked up. “Yup! I remembered you had a whole litter of girls in this apartment, I thought I’d ask them all before I went out and bought a skirt of my own. I need it ‘cause I’m president of the university’s improv group, and every once in a while we tape fun skits or pranks to put on the internet for a little more publicity.”

 “What’s the skit?”

He winked. “You’ll see eventually!” The first of Armin’s loose curls were coming out nicely, and Sasha figured by the time Christa was done, Armin would probably be bumped up to an 8.5. “Ooh, but we might be trying some stuff out at improv night, you should come check it out!”

“We?” Sasha looked to Armin. “You’re a part of the improv troop?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Connie cut in. “Don’t sound so surprised. He’s one of the funniest guys we have, whenever he has the time.” He tapped his temple. “Sharp minds and well-rounded nerds make for good comedians.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Armin mumbled, reaching up to play with one of his curls—Christa slapped his hand away. “But it’s actually a lot of fun. I’m glad Connie got me into it.”

The sound of a key unlocking the door echoed through the apartment and Mikasa and Marco stumbled in, arms full of plastic bags from the grocery. “I forgot to give you the reusable tote bags!” Christa whined, oblivious to Armin’s pained hiss when she accidentally pressed the hot iron to his scalp.

“Ow, ow!”

“Oops, sorry!”

Mikasa’s head was down as she piled the bags on to the counter. “I got everything on the list except for something called Kinder Eggs, which are apparently only sold in _Canada._ So whoever put that on the list and thought it was…….cute…Armin?”

“Um…Hi, Mikasa.”

The rate at which Mikasa had trailed off had Sasha wondering which part of the sentence “cute” was supposed to be tacked on to. Judging by Armin’s embarrassed grin, he was wondering too.

“Hey guys,” Marco said slowly. “…girls? What’s up?”

Connie shrugged. “Workin’ on improv shit. We’re doing a test run on the costuming before we film later this week so we’re gettin’ Armin all dolled up. What do you think?”

“You look very nice?” Marco offered, the whole compliment a question. For once, Sasha would love to hear his uncensored honesty, because “nice” really wasn’t the word for the feminine disaster in the kitchen.

Mikasa kept staring, her gaze intense as she scrutinized the boys—mainly Armin. He drew his legs together and bunched the fabric of skirt over his knees under the heat of her gaze.

“…why is he so _pretty?”_ Mikasa eventually whispered, and Sasha burst out laughing.

“I _know_ right?”

“Lose the curls though,” Mikasa told him, walking over to inspect Christa’s handiwork. Armin looked offended. “You look like Shirley Temple.”

 “Why do you even get that reference? She was like 80 years ago.”

Sasha scoffed. “She hasn’t been living under a rock for 18 years.”

“18? Awww, she’s still a baby!” Connie cooed, which was always a ridiculous joke made by anyone who recently turned 20 and was still crying about it.

“She’s not a baby, she _has_ a baby,” Sasha said without thinking, which of course, earned another exasperated look from Mikasa.

Connie must have had supersonic ears because the mention of a baby had him almost _squealing._ “Baby?! You have a baby? Really? Where is it?” he looked around the room as if it were on the ceiling or something. “Can I pet it or whatever?”

There was a long pause. “Still in the oven,” Mikasa explained flatly, but she blushed bright red when he slid over on the hardwood to kneel in front of her and press his ear to her still flat stomach.

An awkward silence filled the room before Connie whispered, “I can’t hear it.”

Marco chuckled nervously and pulled Mikasa a few steps back by her shoulder. “It’s not exactly speaking at this point.”

Still on the floor, Connie looked up at her. “Have any names picked out? If you don’t, you should really look into the gender-neutral _Connie._ It means _Superb Badass.”_

From his seat at the kitchen table, Christa was starting to look through different shades of eye shadow for Armin, who was currently stifling a laugh. “Isn’t your name short for Cornelius?”

“Pfft, I _wish.”_

While the conversation had turned to Mikasa’s baby, she was still determined to reel back to the fact that her doctor in training was wearing a very expensive chiffon skirt. “Are you going to wear a bra with that?” Mikasa asked.

Armin looked down at his bare chest. “Oh. I hadn’t even considered that. Do I need one?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Sasha shrugged. “You look pretty much like Christa.” It was only then she realized she had just said that Christa didn’t have any boobs.

Sighing, she ran her hand through Armin’s hair, styling the curls and trying to make them looser. “It’s true. Even I don’t have to wear a bra.”

“Well, I need a bra,” Connie admitted, scrambling to stand back on his feet. Sasha was quick to shield her eyes from the unwelcomed sight between his thighs, but from the groans and shrieks coming from Marco and Christa, those two weren’t so lucky. “A nice pair of stuffed knockers should bump me up to that goddamn nickel. Sasha, can I borrow one of yours?”

“You’ll have to earn it first.”

Wait, no, what?

Sasha couldn’t believe she had actually said that out loud.

What more, she couldn’t believe that stupid crooked grin that lit Connie’s face up like the Fourth of July.

“I could live with that.”

* * *

“So then she says, ‘you’ll have to earn it first.’”

Ymir barked out a laugh as Christa retold the story that both she and Annie had missed just a few hours before.

“Smooth,” Annie complimented, but it was squashed under her sarcasm and smirk.

Normally, Sasha was totally up for making fun of herself because she rarely got flustered. Hell, she flirted shamelessly with _everyone_ because she never put much weight on it, but this time she couldn’t help the pink stain that tinted her cheeks when she relived the memory over again in her mind. Damn Connie Springer.

“Har har har,” Sasha rolled her eyes and joined everyone on the long sectional couch, tucking her legs underneath herself and balancing her hot tea on her knee.

“Damn,” Ymir whistled. “You must really like this boy.”

She tried to play it cool. “He’s interesting.”

“Man, he dressed up as a _girl_ and you _still_ wanted to shag him. Either you really like him, or you’re a little bit gay.”

Ymir was right. Dammit. Not that she’d ever admit it anytime soon. “Come over here,” she puckered her lips theatrically, “and we’ll find out.”

But of course, Ymir wasn’t one to back out of a game of chicken and leaned right over Mikasa to smooch Sasha quickly on the lips. “Your lips are chapped.” She announced, leaning back. “Get some lip balm, Springer isn’t gonna want to kiss those lips.”

There was a dirty joke brewing like fine wine in her mind and Sasha simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “Good thing I’ve got other lips for him to kiss, huh?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Sasha.”

“Good Lord.”

Ymir grinned. “Incredible.”

“Did they really make as pretty girls as you said they did?” Annie asked, still skeptical over the whole story and more than happy to redirect the conversation away from “lips.”

Christa nodded. “Armin did. His legs were nice, especially when we put some heels on him.”

“You put him in your heels?” Mikasa asked, a detail she had missed when she went to lay down and take a long afternoon nap, something Sasha was learning she did every day. She was starting to wonder if that was healthy; she mentally made a note to ask Armin or Doctor Smith about it.

“He didn’t really fit in my shoes so….we had him try on Ymir’s,” she admitted sheepishly, hoping Ymir wouldn’t be angry—she wasn’t, only curious.

“Which ones?”

“Um, your black suede wedges?”

“Oh, _God._ Take pictures next time.”

“Even better—“ Sasha pointed to Christa’s phone. “We got a video.”

“What about Connie?” Annie asked.

“He….” Sasha chose her words carefully. “Needs some work. Mostly a wig. Maybe some sleeves. Also feminine features couldn’t hurt.” She laughed. “It’s a good thing he makes a cuter boy.”

Leaning up and fixing her posture, Christa’s entire demeanor took on something mischievous, and Sasha was not looking forward to what interrogation was inevitably to come. “How much cuter, hmm? Is he your lucky dime?

The thing was, Connie wasn’t drop dead gorgeous in the slightest, but she also couldn’t imagine putting whatever she had come to know on a _scale._ He was too large of everything—laugh, smile, personality—to fit on such an arbitrary scale they’d been teasing about. But that was _mushy_ and she wasn’t going to say it. “I don’t know…” and she hid her face in her hand. After a while she decided on, “Much higher than a 4.”

“Yeah?” Christa teased.

“Definitely.”

It was quiet for a moment before Christa changed tactics, and her eyes slipped over to Mikasa. “Hey, what about you? What did he look like?”

She looked dumbfounded. “What did who look like?”

Eyes drifted to her stomach. “Well, the father. Is he handsome?”

The atmosphere went from playful to stiff. It seemed to have been an unspoken rule that no one would bring up why Mikasa had ended up in their college town with a baby cooking and no family. Sasha could relate to not wanting to talk about family, so she didn’t press, but maybe that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. No one really knew the circumstances to which she got pregnant and ended up homeless. Mikasa had said she never expected to see the father again, and that made Sasha wonder—did he leave her? Did she leave him? What was going on? So now that this unspoken rule was broken, Sasha was curious as to what would come as a result. Maybe good friends were supposed to pry when it came to this stuff.

Mikasa twiddled her thumbs and played with the edges of her scarf. “Oh….um…”

“Christa,” Annie’s voice not entirely unlike a mother’s, “You shouldn’t ask her about that.”

She looked rightfully scorned and recoiled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t—“

Surprisingly, Mikasa raised her head and met her gaze, soft and gentle. “It’s okay,” she smiled ever so slightly, lips curling to one side. Eyes flickering back down, her fingers played with a stray red thread, wrapping it around her fingers for a good two minutes before she spoke again. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells about it. He didn’t really do anything wrong, I just….don’t think I’ll ever see him again. It’s complicated.”

A small silence and a gentle roll of her eyes before, “…but yes, he is quite handsome.”

Christa’s smile returned, instant as flipping a light switch. “Ooh! Is he tall?”

Mikasa shook her head. “No, not really. Not like Bertolt or anything,” and Annie mumbled something about how _no one_ was as tall as her giant of a boyfriend.

“Well come on! What else? I’m trying to put together a mental image of this future tot.”

“Um,” Mikasa stuttered, but to Sasha it didn't seem to be from lack of memory, but a lack of knowing just where to begin. She’d bet this girl knew every quirk of his lips, every crooked tooth in his grin. “Kinda tan. Brown hair. Bright eyes.”

“Is he higher than a 4?” Sasha whispered, and Mikasa actually laughed.

“I like to think so.”

In light of trying to bring the conversation back to something more fun, Ymir asked, “But would he make a pretty girl?”

Mikasa pulled a face as soon as the mental image hit her, and the girls laughed.

“He’d probably need one of Sasha’s bras, too.” Annie teased.

“My bra? You’re the one with the biggest boobs, which is why I gave Connie one of yours.”

“ _Sasha!”_

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaahhh!!! This took forever, sorry about that. I think it's obvious who Mikasa's baby daddy is at this point, but since the story is limited to Sasha's point of view, it might take a long while for pieces to connect. Thanks again for the feedback! (Especially Earthy, I fixed that major booboo typo!!!) I hope you enjoy it! :)


	5. a mint green casket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha gets tired, Christa gets angry and Ymir gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: some alcohol use

_August 28th_

.

There were many things Sasha loved in life, but there was nothing she loved more than free pizza.

A couple weeks into the semester and Sasha was already  _dying;_ which was barely hyperbole, if she were being honest. With her class workload, new job, and long commutes from campuses, libraries and computer labs, she barely remembered to shove coffee down her throat every morning. Hell, it wasn’t even  _September_ and she was already picking out her casket. (Mint green. Light-hearted, but not too crazy. Nothing that shouted “glad this bitch is dead, let’s fucking party”)

So when Sasha saw the stand that read  _Free Pizza_ in the middle of the student quad, she did not give one damn that she would have to stand and listen to the students drone on about whatever political view it was they were presenting this afternoon. She was getting that damn pizza.

She only had Christa to share this experience with, seeing as she saw her slamming her head in a library desk trying to study for LSATs and promptly dragged her out into the sunshine for a well-deserved break. Otherwise, she’d be picking out caskets for the both of them.

“Christa,” Sasha whispered, cupping her hand above her brow to shield her eyes from the bright sun. “Is there a stand for free pizza over there, or is it just a cruel mirage?”

Her breath came out in a hot and uncomfortable puff that grazed Sasha’s arm. “Yes, there’s free pizza, but  _trust me_ you do not want to go over there.” She scoffed. “Just a bunch of illiterate snobs who think they have a handle on the government system.”

“I didn’t hear anything after you confirmed there was free pizza.”

“Sash _aahh!”_

With a firm grab on her wrist, Sasha dragged Christa over to the stand, intent on getting Miss Little Health Nut a slice of pizza as well. The girl wasn’t a vegan _yet_. As they got closer, Sasha was able to read the banner above their table:

_University Guest Speaker: Governor Rod Reiss_

They were greeted by this overly peppy girl with sunburn on her cheeks and overly processed hair in her face. “Hi! Would you look a slice of pizza?” she asked, and yes, Sasha very much wanted a slice.

What was better though was the selection of pizza. Normally, they gave away cheese, maybe some pepperoni, but this governor dude must have really wanted students to attend his little speech gimmick because there were some choices, including fucking  _supreme_ pizza. A supremely awesome move.

“You sure know how to win my heart,” Sasha laughed, grabbing the slice most heavily covered in olives. The heat box of today’s 90 degree weather was doing wonders to the cheese. “Christa,” she turned to her friend, mouth stuffed, “They have cheese. Grab a slice.”

“No.”

 It was the coldest her voice had ever sounded.

Unaware of Christa’s obvious change in usual temperament, the girl at the stand just continued to smile. She reached into a box that was sitting in a lawn chair behind her and produced two small flyers that advertised the governor’s visit, with both a time and date of when he’d be speaking. “As you know, the governor is running for a second term this year—“ and so began the girl’s spiel.

The thing was, Sasha didn’t know.  As the girl continued to drawl on about something that sounded like an economic plan with an emphasis on employing college graduates, Sasha took to her own economic plan—well, if counting olives on her pizza as she scarfed it down could count as economics. Numbers were numbers, right? It was kind of shameful, but Sasha didn’t know who Rod Reiss was. Sasha was a very smart girl, but her smarts were specific to her needs. The government should have a major hand in helping the homeless like she once was, but the fact of the matter was  _they didn’t_ _._ So, she spent her time memorizing organic chemistry to keep a college scholarship instead of registering to vote.

But while Sasha wasn’t listening, that didn’t mean Christa wasn’t.

 “Governor Reiss is a piece of shit,” Christa hissed, and the bite of pizza in Sasha’s mouth fell out onto the sidewalk in surprise.

Well, she was sure as shit listening  _now._ "Did you just swear?”

The girl at the stand looked mildly surprised, but due to the fact that she was handing out these flyers and such, she was prepared to defend her governor of choice. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I think the governor is doing a great job, and the alternatives—“

Again, Christa interrupted. “The  _alternatives_  might actually get something done, as opposed to Reiss, whose wishy-washy, pathetic attempts to stick to his promises should honestly get him impeached,” she growled and gave Sasha’s arm a good tug, which caused her half eaten pizza slice to fall right out of her hand.

“Hey,” Sasha pouted, turning her head back to look at her fallen pizza with remorse. “Me and that supreme slice were just getting to know each other.”

It took a few seconds, but Christa’s pace slowed and her grip lightened once they were across the quad; she dropped Sasha’s arm altogether when they made it to the student union building. “Sorry,” she apologized, unable to meet her eyes. “That was rude.”

A little, maybe, but Sasha was too intrigued by her reaction to take anything to heart. “You’re fine, it’s just…I’m curious as to what you were all worked up about.”

She tugged at her blonde hair. “Didn’t you hear what that girl was saying?  As if his first economic booster plan was a success, she actually thinks he’s going to create more jobs the second time around? Ha! She was brainwashed!”

In a sheepish gesture, Sasha squinted her eyes and rubbed at the nape of her neck. “Sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention. I don’t follow any of that politics stuff.”

“Well,” She began with a sigh that carried through her entire body. “Let’s just say I don’t exactly agree with his political stances. I think he’s insanely clever and uses that to trick the public into thinking things are out of his hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Another sigh. “He’s a hypocrite,” she explained, which didn’t really cover any of Sasha’s questions. At all. “He doesn’t act on what he preaches, if you know what I mean.”

Sasha  _really_  didn’t, but since it was a scorching late-August day, they were both sweaty, and Christa’s heartbeat was probably Olympic worthy, Sasha decided to drop it. After all, Christa was a lawyer in training, so politics probably just got her all riled up anyhow. “I got it. Don’t worry about it,” and she bumped her hip playfully. “I wasn’t planning on going to hear his dumb speech anyway. I only went over for the pizza.”

Finally, Christa relaxed, smiling a bit. “I know. Sorry, again.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Reaching into her back pocket of her shorts, Sasha pulled out her phone and checked the time. Of course it was already that late. “Shit, I got to get to work. Don’t wait up for me, I’ll probably hit the library again to finish typing up a lab report.”

Confused, Christa cocked her head to the side. “Why don’t you just take your laptop to work and type it up there? It’s not like you’re working every second behind the front desk, right?”

The suggestion sounded like a dream, but unfortunately it wasn’t possible. “I don’t have a laptop.”

“You don’t have a  _laptop_?”

“Uhh, no?”

Christa huffed. “Oh. Well, alright. I’ll catch you later,” and with a sharp turn on her heel, she stalked off in the other direction towards downtown leaving her alone and totally pizza-less.

She may or may not have to stop and get some before work.

“I still can’t believe you swore!” Sasha called to Christa’s far-off retreating figure before she headed off in the other direction.

 

* * *

 

“I did it! I kept them alive!”

Sasha looked up from the counter to find Sir Kitten Man marching in with the same godforsaken cardboard box. Today he had exchanged his disgruntled scowl for a glittering grin that could probably be slapped onto any brand of toothpaste. He set the box on the counter and pulled back the lapels, revealing all five kittens healthy and, yes, alive. “Congratulations on not committing acts of animal cruelty.”

He mouthed her words back mockingly before his boyish grin returned. “Look, I don’t normally like to own up to good ideas that aren’t my own, but yours was a good idea. A really good idea.”

“Oh?” She leaned back in her office chair and propped her hands behind her head. “Go on. I love a good praise.”

He rolled his eyes, but nonetheless, continued. “Yeah. You see, my mom,” he stopped short, and looked down at his feet, as if unsure of how to continue. “My mom has been really depressed lately. But when I asked her to help me to take care of these kittens,” he reached down into the box and pulled out the lone grey one and snuggled it to his chest. “She was… _alive._ She got so excited.”

“Animals can be very therapeutic,” Sasha offered, and he nodded again in agreement.

“I think it was good to give her something to baby, you know?”, and it was a serious moment, sure, but Sasha couldn’t resist the opportunity to reach over and pinch at the boy’s cheeks.

“Oh, she’s got something to baby right here!” she crooned, and the boy whined (definitely still something to baby!) and pulled away from her.

“I’m serious!” he laughed, pushing her hands away when she went in for a second advance. “Ever since,” he stopped short _again_ only this time his expression was sickly and hurt, like a wounded animal. She could admit him right this second. “We recently lost someone very important,” he said quietly and her heart clenched.

The hand she had hovering over his cheeks fell to give him a soft squeeze on the shoulder. Sasha was no stranger to loss. Her mother, her father, everything she’s known…she had lost it at some point or another. So she hoped her condolences sounded sincere. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been really hard on all of us. I’ve tried to keep moving forward but my mom kind of just…shut down. Hard.” He sighed heavily out his nose. “A few weeks after and my dad decided that a change of scenery might be good. So my dad took a transfer and we just moved here.”

The conversation kind of hit a dead end there, and the silence was a bit uncomfortable. “Well,” Sasha eventually said, “I wasn’t lying about animals being therapeutic. You might want to consider keeping the cats, for your mother. If your new apartment or whatever lets you have pets.”

“Oh no, we don’t live in an apartment. That would be too simple, too normal,” he said, and his voice was mockingly proud. “My dad decided that a farmhouse outside the city limits would be best. So we can have as many pets as we want. I could start a goddamn zoo, like in that movie….uh, what’s the name…”

 _“We Bought A Zoo.”_ She wrinkled her nose at the comparison. “Ha. You’re no Matt Damon.”

He puffed out his chest. “Hey. I’m tall-ish I’m handsome-ish. I could run a zoo-ish.  Boom. Matt Damon...ish”

Sasha laughed. “You couldn’t take care of kittens without your _mom’s_ help. Maybe you’d stand a chance with the lovely Scarlett Johansson helping you out,” and she gestured to herself, ignoring how he rolled his eyes again. “Now, let’s take a look at your new _lions.”_ She joked before taking the box and heading to the back to give them all a weigh.

The kittens were much chattier this time around, save for the quiet grey one still purring in the boys arm. Sasha plucked the biggest sandy colored one and gave it a quick kiss on the top of its head. “What’s this one’s name?”

“…Name?”

This kid was unbelievable. “Names! Please tell me you named them.”

“Why the hell would I name them?”

She smacked the boy upside the head. “Because they deserve names, you dumbass!” He scowled at her and rubbed at his head, rightfully reprimanded. “Look,” she tried with more patience this time, “It’s important you name them! And with pets, you don’t even have to give them people names. You can call them whatever you want.” She held the first kitten up at eye level, as if his name was hidden in the blues of his eyes. “…This one is Peaches.”

The boy snorted. “Peaches? Really?”

This kid really had no place to be making fun of her adorable name choice. “If you want a better name, think of one yourself.”

“Alright, alright….Peaches it is,” he sighed, but there was a twinge of a smile on his face. “I think my mom would like that name anyhow.”

“Good!” Sasha nodded and continued to weigh the cats. Each time she weighed a cat she gave them a new name (Papaya, Pumpkin, and Pineapple, to which he asked just how hungry she was). When it was time to get the last kitten still in his arms, he interrupted her name-giving ceremony with a name of his own.

“…Totoro.”

Besides the fact that he was _totally_ killing her fruits that start with “P” vibe (Plum was the last one on the list), she didn’t even know what a Totoro was. “…Totoro?” she repeated back, completely butchering the word. Sounded so much easier in her head.

 “I already named that one,” he grumbled and Sasha saw his cheeks stained pink. “S’from a movie….big grey cat-looking thing. Called Totoro.”

Sasha looked back at the small, grey, runt-of-the-litter kitten and smiled. _Someone_ certainly had a favorite. She finished getting their weights and giving them a quick look over before she put them back in the box and gave him new instructions to follow before they were due back for shots. “Speaking of names, I still don’t know yours.”

“Are we not Matt and Scarlett? I’m confused.”

Sasha snorted. “I’ve been calling you ‘Sir Kitten Man’ in my head. And I gotta say, it’s pretty lengthy.”

“My name for you is much shorter. Though not at all much kinder.” And he grinned this awful, _awful_ grin. Smug bastard.

She held out her hand. “Sasha.”

He took it. “Eren.”

 

* * *

 

Sasha was walking home from the bus stop when she got a call.

“Hey, Pixis,” she greeted wearily, sidestepping a parking meter as she crossed the street. She’d had enough of running into those to last her a few years. “I’ve had a really long day, so maybe you can pester me tomorrow—“

_“Honey, this can’t really wait.”_

She stopped dead in the middle of the street; she only moved once a driver honked at her. She flashed him a middle finger before she picked up the pace and made it to the sidewalk. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her grandfather was old as _balls_ and it terrified her more than she liked to admit that one day she’d get a call telling her he wasn’t around anymore.

_“I’m fine. This is about your father.”_

Oh. So not worth getting worked up over. “Like I said, you can pester me about this on another day.”

He ignored her request, and she, despite it all, remained on the phone. _“Because you don’t bother to check up on him,”_ and Sasha didn’t miss the disapproval in his voice, _“You wouldn’t know that your father has been facing his symptoms better than most. So, his doctor thinks it would be best if we transferred him somewhere else so he can start some medicinal trials to help fend off the symptoms.”_

“Ah. Uh, okay.” She didn’t really see where this concerned her. Move her father to another hospital? Sure, why would she care? In fact, move him across the country. That way, visiting him would be a hassle and an unlikely expectation.

_“The closest hospital that offers the trial is in Shiganshina: your university teaching hospital.”_

Fuck.

There’s the kicker.

“This isn’t going to change anything,” she growled. “Moving him four hours closer isn’t going to magically make me start visiting him.”

 _“Alexandra,”_ he sighed over the phone. _“I know this is tough on you. But now that I’m going be the one four hours away as opposed to you, I can’t be the first emergency contact anymore. I…you’re going to have to be the new contact.”_

She walked straight into a parking meter.

“Son of a bitch!”

Still on the phone, her grandfather heard the stream of colorful profanities that spilled out of her mouth. _“What’s wrong?”_

She cursed again, throwing a nervous pedestrian a dirty look. “I walked right into a fucking parking meter!” and she clutched at the spot in her gut that would surely bruise in the morning. She took a few calming breaths before she held the phone back up to her ear, not at all surprised that Pixis was still there. “Why do we have to move him anyway? It’s not like this trial is going to cure him.”

 _“Don’t talk like that,”_ he snapped. _“This trial could make him a lot more comfortable, it could really help.”_

The streets had grown a little quieter as she walked up the steps to her apartment building. “You’re sure you want me to be making these life or death decisions on his behalf?”

_“I doubt it would come to that anytime soon, but I trust you. And while you may not believe it, your father trusts you as well.”_

She snorted, fishing her keys out of her backpack. “Not the wisest decision,” she said, but the whole thing came out mumbled as a yawn interrupted her.

Pixis laughed. _“I guess you weren’t lying when you said you were tired—I didn’t think you could even yawn!”_ he joked, which managed to wiggle out a small laugh from her as well. _“I’ll email you the details in a few days, okay? I’ll talk to you later, sweetheart. Love you.”_

“I love you, too, Pixis.”

She walked through the doors and hit the button for the elevator. Two seconds later the door opened, and out came Annie with her gym bag stuffed to the brim and her boxing gloves tied to the side. “Oh, hey,” Annie greeted sleepily. Several days later and Annie’s eye and healed all and well, but Sasha noticed she had picked up smaller bruises on her arms and legs. “I’m going to the gym. If Bertolt stops by, tell him he can stay, I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

She glanced at the time on her phone—11:09 PM. “Okay,” Sasha yawned again, way too tired to deal with her secretive bullshit, and stepped into the elevator. The doors were almost closed when Annie suddenly ran back and stuck her arm in the small opening causing the doors to slide open again.

“Just so you know Christa…went a little crazy today.”

Uh-oh. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see. Just a warning,” and the door slid closed.

Walking into the apartment, Sasha decided a “little crazy” was an _understatement_.

The open living space was _covered_ in shopping bags. The couch that Christa had bought was gone, replaced by some other expensive one and accompanied by two similar looking chairs. There were boxes on the counter that looked like new high-end kitchen appliances: toaster, microwave and an espresso machine. In the far corner where Ymir’s wine was previously stuffed in boxes was now neatly stored in a nice looking wine rack. There was a new coffee table, new bar stools, new side desks and Mikasa looked properly terrified under a pile of clothes as she laid confused on the new couch, Christ chatting idly above her.

“What the hell happened in here?” Sasha asked, slamming the door closed behind her. “Are you starting an IKEA in our apartment?”

It was as if she had never been pissed off. “Hi Sasha! How was the rest of your day?”

She looked at Mikasa who shook her head as if to say _I don’t know._ “Boring,” Sasha answered, and she set her backpack down on the floor. Something else was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Then she saw it---Bambi was gone, replaced with some bigger, _faker_ looking one with plastic antlers. The fucking nerve. “Hey! Where the fuck is Bambi?”

Christa blinked at her all doe-like, which only pissed her off even more. “Huh?”

“My deer! My fucking deer that was above the fireplace mantle! Where is it?”

“I…took it down. It’s in your room.”

She sputtered and tugged at her hair. “Why would you take it down? And what more, why would you replace it with a _fake_ one?”

Ignoring her anger, Christa’s eyes drifted to the deer. “You can tell it’s fake? I thought it looked pretty real.”

“Yes I can tell it’s fake, anyone who knows animals like me knows it’s fake!” Stomping her foot was completely childish, but she didn’t really care at moment.  “Why!?”

Christa shrugged. “I dunno…I just thought a bigger one would look cooler, since yours is kind of small.” Okay, fuck Christa, she can go shoot a deer herself and see how easy it is. “Besides, you’re a vet! Why would you shoot animals like that? Don’t you love them?”

Oh so, so naïve. “Deer aren’t animals!” she rolled her eyes extra hard for emphasis. “They don’t matter! They’re like…rodent infestations! Giant, stupid, skittish rats! They just don’t _fucking_ matter. There’s a reason they are dead on the side of the road all the time. They’re ridiculous!”

Okay, slight exaggeration. Maybe. But there was a point to be made.

Christa was silent, but Mikasa managed a stifled chuckle from her mountain of clothes she was smothered under.

“Just,” Sasha took more than a few calming breaths and let her eyes flutter shut. “Please, can I put the deer back?”

Christa nodded immediately. “Y-yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” because really, it was. “I just…” To be honest, she was overwhelmed. Sasha had never been around so much stuff in her entire life—and new stuff at that. What was wrong the new couch they had just gotten? What was wrong with the toaster, the coffee maker, the microwave? Sure, retail therapy was apparently a thing, but surely it didn’t extend so these extremes. “Why all the intense shopping?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know,” she said, which was totally not an answer. “But it’s not like it was all silly!” she sang, her bubbly personality back once more. “Go check your room!”

“My--?” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence as she bolted to her room, slipping and tripping over bags from stores she didn’t recognize. What did Christa do to her _room?_

She practically kicked down the door to reveal her room basically the same, only more _crowded._ Her bins were replaced by a desk and her pop-out closet was replaced with a matching armoire. Her bedframe that she had let Christa buy now had a headboard and a fancy new duvet. But, what she noticed most of all, was the somewhat large box sitting on said duvet; she recalled their previous conversation.

_“You don’t have a laptop?”_

Sasha was so _fucked._

She super wanted this laptop.

“Christaaaaaa!” Sasha wailed, tone caught between excitement and distress. Grabbing the box, she dashed back out into the living room. “You bought me a _laptop?”_

“You don’t have one! And come on, you have to admit that being in college, a laptop is almost a necessity.”

“Yeah, almost!” she squeaked back, staring at the box. As far as Sasha knew, laptops were either Windows or Macs. And since this box wasn’t white, she guessed it wasn’t a Mac. But what the hell was a _Lenovo?_ “Christa, you can’t keep buying me stuff.”

“Why not?” she cried. “I have the money, it’s not a big deal! Why would I keep it all to myself?”

She set the computer aside. “Then donate it! Give it to charities! Give it to people who need it!”

“I am! _You_ need it!”

Silence.

Christa’s jaw clamped shut, and she could see her grinding her teeth in worry as she tried not to duck her head in fear of Sasha’s gaze.

It took a moment. It took a moment for her to collect everything she was in the past few years and put it into words. But when she opened her mouth, she found the words were quite simple. “I’m not a charity case anymore. I know that you,” she glanced at Mikasa, “Both of you have picked up that I was homeless once upon a time, but I’m not anymore. I had to get a lot of help to get where I was, and now…I don’t need it. I’m so _proud_ of myself, because I don’t _need_ help. So please. Understand. I can’t keep accepting this stuff. It’s nice, but I don’t need it.” She sighed. “Buy it for yourself. But don’t buy it for me. Okay?”

Christa took a deep breath. “Okay.” she agreed.

“But you can help Mikasa all you want,” she added as an afterthought. “In fact, until she pops this kid out, you’d better.”

Her laugh sounded like chimes. “Don’t you worry, I intend to.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Mikasa mumbled from the couch, “under all these maternity clothes.”

Sasha laughed. “She’s not even really showing yet.”

 “Eventually, she will be.”

Picking up the computer, she walked over and set it next to a bunch of bags by the door. “You can take this back tomorrow.”

“Uhhhh,” her voice was high-pitched and she feared what would come next. “I can’t, really…I can’t really take any of it back,” she admitted, referring to her set of bedroom furniture.

“You’re joking. You’re totally joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“It was on sale! I got everything of yours on sale!” She chirped like a goddamn songbird. “In fact your desk was _super cheap_ because it was…kinda defective.”

That came as a surprise to Sasha. Christa didn’t really look like the type to buy things on sale, let alone the defected furniture from the pathetic corner in IKEA. Maybe she was thinking of her frugalness when she was buying all this shit. “Defective how?”

She wrung her hands together nervously. “Well, it seems some teenagers were up to some trouble and someone carved some _profanity_ into the back of it. I didn’t think it mattered since it would be pushed into the back of your wall.”

Profanity? Oh, this had to be good.

Wandering back into her room, she kicked aside poor Bambi’s head so she had enough space to pull her desk out from the wall. Pushing it up against the adjacent wall with the window, she looked down and saw just what was carved into the wood:

_Fuck_

“Those _bastards_ ,” she whispered to herself, mildly disappointed in the teenage minds of today’s generation. “Tons of lackluster celebrities to choose from, and they went for vague profanity. Not an ounce of originality.” She’d have to fix it later.

As her mind drifted for solution to making her desk more acceptable, Sasha decided that her new room wasn’t so bad. Christa had picked out some really nice furniture: a honey-colored oak with nice finishes. It looked a lot like her parents’ old armoire. It gave the room a really cozy feeling, and Sasha found herself drifting off to sleep, right against the desk.

Of course, this day couldn’t be over just yet.

The front door opened and closed with a slam, and Ymir’s voice carried through the apartment; it was uncharacteristically sharp, loud, and sloppy, which meant that Ymir had returned _insanely_ drunk from work. In fact, judging by the fact that it wasn’t even midnight yet, Sasha vaguely wondered if she was sent home, or if the chef decided to cover her ass so she didn’t get fired.

She closed her eyes again, hoping and praying that Ymir would just stumble to her room and be done with it, but that didn’t happen. “Sasha!” That wasn’t Christa’s voice, but _Mikasa’s voice,_ which was enough to get her off her ass and back into the living room.

Ymir was being held up by a terrified looking Christa, who was clearly struggling with the whole ordeal considering the height difference. Mikasa was hovering, not really sure what to do. “Ymir?”

She lifted her head lazily, and Sasha saw just how drunk she was. “Heeeey, Sash.” She giggled, which was kind of funny on account that Ymir didn’t really giggle all too often. “Dude, I’m so fuckin’ wasted.”

Sighing, Sasha walked over and brushed Mikasa and Christ aside. She got a whiff of her breath. “Jesus, you smell like a goddamn brewery. How much did you have to drink?” Ymir drank a lot, but she wasn’t normally a binge drinker. But when she was, oh boy, was she.

“I don’t ‘member.”

“Yes you do. How many?”

“…Lost count.”

“Lost count after which number, Ymir?” She was much too tired for drunken games.

“...10 shots. Don’t know how much beer.”

Judging by how she could barely stand alone, it was probably quite a bit. God, she looked terrible. “How did you get home?”

“Walked. Kinda,” she shrugged. “Got hit by a car.”

“You got hit by a _car!?”_ All three girls screamed.

Ymir tried to wiggle out of Sasha’s hold, but she was unsuccessful. “Wasn’t so hard. Real little car. Stupid Prius. Not fast. M’okay. Walked at the wrong light, s’all.”

Fuck. Maybe Sasha should look into picking up Ymir from work. This time it was a little bump, next time it could be her head spinning off her shoulders. However, it was a conversation for another day when Ymir was neither drunk nor wasted. Which, if she was being honest, was a bit of a rarity.

Ymir swayed a bit, looking sick. “Okay, let’s go,” and Sasha dragged her off to the bathroom. “Christa, come help me,” and she followed at her heel. She dragged Ymir, propped her up between the toilet and the tub, and waited. “Close the door and stand in front of it,” Sasha whispered to Christa, and she listened. She doubted Ymir was in any condition to escape, but just in case, it didn't hurt to take precautions.

“I’m not going to throw up,” Ymir rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you are. You had way too much to drink. Just stick your fingers down your throat and be done with it.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me do it for you.”

_“No.”_

_“Ymir.”_

From the door, Christa whimpered.

Obviously, Sasha was going to have to change her tactics. She ran her fingers through her hair (which seriously needed a wash) and sighed. “Imagine your grandparents having sex,” she said slowly and loudly, making sure every detail was picked up by her drunken ears, “Your grandma with her saggy boobs and your grandfather with his smelly balls.”

“ _Don’t_.”

“They’re making out: dentures clinking, fingers grabbing at wrinkled asses—“

Ymir pushed Sasha aside and vomited into the toilet.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” she moaned, as she threw up again. “Why would you even say that?”

“I had to say something to make you sick.” She held back Ymir’s hair and tossed Christa a wink. “Works like a charm every time.”

“I hate you!” She cursed from inside the toilet bowl, throwing up again. Looks like when she started, she couldn’t really stop.

After what seemed like forever (but was really just like, five minutes) Ymir finished throwing up the seemingly gallons of alcohol sitting in her stomach. Sasha and Christa helped her out of her work clothes (Where they noticed a bruise indicative of being nudged by a car) and into an over sized t-shirt before they tossed her unceremoniously in her bed.

“She’ll be fine. She threw up everything,” Sasha promised when she noticed Christa’s worried look.

“I might still check up on her every once in a while,” Christa bit her lip. “Besides, I’ll probably be up studying for a few more hours.”

Sasha couldn’t even _imagine_ being awake for a few more _seconds_. “Okay, do what you want. I’m going to bed.” Deciding that today’s events were worthy of a little physical affection, Sasha pulled Christa into a hug. “Sorry about today. But thank you for the laptop. And…everything else, too.”

Christa squeezed her back. “I’m sorry, too. And you’re welcome.”

Without even considering changing her clothes, Sasha padded to her room and plopped onto her bed, right on top of her duvet.

She noticed the color. “Mint green colored duvet,” she whispered to herself, laughing at the irony.

She wrapped herself into her soft casket and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I read through this like 9 times, but I'm sure there's still a bunch of grammar mistakes. I'm trying to get better at editing myself, but I still have a ways to go. Yes, kitten man was Eren! Sorry to make you wait. He'll make a few more appearances. I know this chapter probably wasn't as funny as the last ones, but I needed to set some stuff up. (lmao, I probably said that last time) And just remember that if there's clues that seem obvious, they probably are--it's just the story is limited to Sasha's POV, which will make big reveals between characters a lot more fun :) I hope it was enjoyable! Next update should be next week, (Annie, Annie, Annie!) so have a good one!


	6. first rule of fight club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something to do with a bar of soap

_September 16 th_

_._

It was halfway through September when Sasha realized she didn’t know a damn thing about Annie.

Of course, there were still lingering mysteries concerning all her other roommates: Mikasa’s previous homelessness, Christa’s insane wealth, and Ymir’s growing drinking problem. But at least she knew some minor details about them, like: Mikasa really liked doing jigsaw puzzles, Christa made grilled cheese sandwiches as midnight snacks, and Ymir didn’t just speak Arabic, but French as well. Annie, however, was an entirely different story. All Sasha knew was that Annie was a college student who spent a lot of time working out. Hell, she didn’t even know what she was _studying:_ Math? Telecommunications? Gym? You could get a degree in gym, right?

Sasha pondered the thought as she blearily rubbed her sleepy eyes and padded to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. It was early, too early for even the sun to be out, but Sasha had an exam to start studying for so now was as good a time as ever to get going.

She was trying to figure out the new espresso machine Christa had bought when Bertolt stumbled out of Annie’s bedroom, fully dressed and looking tired. “Annie? Is that--Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Definitely more alert, Sasha peeled her eyes from the chrome appliance and caught Bertolt spinning on his heel so his back was to her, his face buried in his hands. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“S-Sasha, you’re not…um. You’re not wearing a shirt.”

What?

Sasha looked down to find he was right.

Slowly, she brought her arms to cover up her bare breasts. While she didn’t really care that much about anyone seeing her boobs, poor Bertolt looked like he was about to have a stroke--and he wasn't even _looking_. It was a good thing she at least slept in pajama shorts. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

With his back still to her, he shook his head back and forth. “N-no no! It’s my fault.” She watched as his towering figure shrugged off his t-shirt and tossed it behind him.  “H-here.”

She could have just as easily slipped past him and gone to her room to get her own shirt, but she decided to humor him. The huge shirt was an offending orange but _really_ soft with the name of one of her favorite bands slapped across the front. “I love the Mowgli’s,” she murmured. He was going to regret giving her that shirt because there was no way she was giving it back. “You can turn around now,” she laughed.

When he did so, he looked considerably more relaxed. He gave her a timid smile and bit back a laugh at how she was swimming in his t-shirt, the hem of her shorts lost underneath. But he gave her a compliment anyhow. “You look very nice in orange. It’s a good color, given your tan skin and brown eyes.”

The comment was strangely specific and she would have teased him for it, but her morning brain remembered what Annie had told her awhile back. “Oh yeah, you’re really good with make-up and stuff, right?”

He blushed, and due to the fact that he was bare chested, she saw it bled down past his shoulders. “Annie told you that?” and he was almost whining.

“I think it’s cool!” Sasha promised as she headed back to make another cup of coffee. “I don’t know a thing about make-up. Maybe you can do mine someday!”

His smile returned at that. “Sure, whenever you’d like.”

She busied herself with making breakfast (egg, ham, and cheese on toasted bagels) while Bertolt managed to ask her questions concerning her classes and job at the vet clinic. In turn, she asked him about his English seminars. It wasn’t until she had asked him about his last creative writing story did it dawn onto her that she knew way more about Bertolt than Annie.

“What’s Annie’s major?”

Bertolt looked up from his plate and gave her a curious stare. “You don’t know?”

“Nope.”

He frowned, but answered nonetheless. “Kinesiology,” and he ducked his head back to finish his breakfast.

Drumming her fingers on the kitchen table, Sasha took a loud sip of her piping hot coffee and thought of some more questions. Bertolt was practically the Google Search engine to discovering what Annie was all about. “What’s her favorite color?”

“Blue,” he answered immediately and flatly, taking another bite.

“What’s her favorite sport?”

“Hockey.”

“Chocolate or Vanilla?”

“Neither. She prefers strawberry.”

“Is that you I hear snoring at night, or her?”

The slightest of pauses. “…Me,” and his cheeks flamed red. However, Sasha knew it was from the lie he just spewed than from personal embarrassment.

“Liar,” Sasha grinned deviously. That one was a trick question, since there was a time Sasha had caught Annie asleep on the couch, so she knew for a fact that Annie was the one that snored. “You’re too nice of a guy, Bertl.”

He shrugged, sheepish. “What’s with all the questions?”

Sighing, Sasha rested her chin in the palm of her hand, knobby elbow digging into the tabletop. “Well, we’ve been living together for weeks and I still don’t really know much about her. Anything, really. She’s never here _.”_ Her eyes flickered to her bedroom.

“I know,” Bertolt grumbled, and he sounded as exasperated as someone like him could sound. “I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Wait, she’s not even here now?” Sasha blurted out, almost too loudly. It was barely six o’clock, no need to wake up the entire apartment. “Did you sleep in her room last night?”

He nodded. “She should have been back last night, it’s why I stopped by, but…” He trailed off with sigh. “Don’t worry about not seeing her all the time. She tends to do this every once in a while. I’m not a fan, but I’ve known her long enough to know it’s just something I have to deal with.”

That didn’t sound very fair to Sasha. “Well, where is she going off for hours at a time? Blowing off steam?”

Bertolt didn’t answer right away. He kept chewing on his lips and playing with the same part of his food over and over again. “Sorta. I’ve known Annie since we were kids. She hasn’t had the easiest go of it.” He paused. “Well, it certainly could have been worse, but it was still pretty rough on her. As a result, she turned into a bit of a lone wolf. She's always off doing her own thing. Back when we were kids, she even picked fights: pulling, some biting, nothing too serious—but high school rolled around and then it got really bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he continued, looking rather resigned, “She started fighting for money. Unregulated cage fights. We lived in the real nasty parts of Trost, the metro city around Sina? It was pretty common for fights and drugs and all sorts of bad stuff to go on.”

“Unregulated cage fights?” It didn’t really click with Sasha. “Like _Fight_ _Club_?” Which she immediately regretted saying due to the fact that she hadn’t actually seen _Fight Club._ All she knew is you weren’t supposed to talk about it, so it was a pretty good analogy thus far, considering Annie’s secrecy.

He grimaced, not amused with the comparison. “Maybe, I guess. I never saw that movie.” Oh, good, he hadn’t seen it either.

Quiet settled over them and Sasha took a few minutes to imagine Annie fighting. It certainly explained why she got that black eye the other day. “So, she goes off for days at a time to…fight?”

Bertolt sputtered on the last of his coffee. “What? Oh, no, no, she doesn’t fight anymore.” He paused and reevaluated his statement. “Well, she does, but she fights at the gym. With equipment and rules and safety precautions.”

This wasn’t really adding up like it should have.

“There was a close call, her senior year,” Bertolt explained. “Whoever she was fighting got a real dirty hit on her. They knocked her unconscious for a good couple of minutes. It scared the shit out of me and Reiner. ” He fiddled with the handle on his mug, refusing to meet Sasha’s eyes. “These people, they fight dirty because they have to. They’re doing this for major cash and anything goes. Her head has been knocked around so many times…”

His grip on the coffee mug was so tight, his knuckles bled white.

“If someone were to hit her that hard again, she might not wake up.”

_God._

Annie’s black eye was bright in the forefront of her mind, and Sasha felt sick.

“You don’t think she’d go back to fighting, right? I mean, she’s smarter than that,” Sasha laughed nervously. “She wouldn’t put her life in danger again.”

“...I really hope not.”

 

* * *

 

Sasha found Connie at the comedy bar he talked about—this little basement bar of a thing below the independent movie theater—where he was preparing the stage for his show later that week. Having only seen him in gym shorts and ladies clothes, it was interesting to see that he had chosen khakis and a bright plaid button down with a black skinny tie. It looked way too fashionable for him; something more suitable for Armin.

“Hey there, little lady,” he greeted from across the room without sparing much of a glance. He was busy configuring audience chairs in the shallow empty space of the floor. “You’re early for my show. About three days, I’d say.” He finally looked up and grinned.

Sasha jogged down the rest of the staircase and passed the pop-out concession stand of a bar, empty and without a bartender. Her new laptop and matching computer case tapped against her thigh as she thought about how Ymir would probably enjoy working here a lot more than where she was. “Sorry, but I’m here on official seedy business.”

Connie grabbed a ladder from a hidden closet off the side, the black paint job severely chipped and leaving much of the old oak exposed. “Oh? Is that so?” He motioned for her to come and hold the ladder as he grabbed a small brown box full of light bulbs and climbed up to fix one of the overheads above the stage. “I’m appalled. What makes you think I’m so unsavory? I hate to break it to you, but I’m about as seedy as a strawberry.”

“Strawberries have seeds. On the outside.”

“No one counts those.”

“They get stuck in my teeth. They count.”

He laughed, exchanging a blue bulb for one that worked. “Okay, what’s up?”

She fished something out of her backpack—a pale, pink bar of soap with the word _fight_ etched into the surface with a kitchen knife—and tossed it up his way. He caught it, barely, stumbling a bit on the ladder.  He studied it for a bit before he tossed it back her way and started making the climb back down. “You forgot the word _club_ ,” he told her.

Yeah, she _knew_ that, but writing words into soap was a lot harder than it looked. Sasha had run out of room. “You try doing a better job,” she teased, throwing the soap back at him, this time aiming for his face. Unfortunately, he ducked, and it missed his near squeaky bald head.

“Alright, so you give me a horrifically cliché replica from _Fight Club_ and tell me you’re here on official seedy business.” He held his hands up in defense. “Let me just go ahead and say that I’m out. I don’t fight,” and he winked. “It wouldn’t be fair to my opponents.”

The image of Connie fighting had her laughing. “No, no, I’m not asking you _to_ fight. I’m asking you to _take me_ to a fight.”

“Oh, like a MMA fight? Or maybe boxing? Ooh, I know, wrestling! You know, the university has quite the wrestling team—“

_“Connie.”_

His smile deflated, just a little, to make way for a twinge of concern that bunched at his brow. “Why do you want me to take you to an underground fight? They don’t really seem like you’re sort of thing.”

Sasha squirmed a bit because truthfully, it _wasn’t_ her thing. She’d spent enough time doing illegal shit as a teenager just to get by that she avoided these kinds of events like the plague. “Well, I think my roommate is one of the fighters. I don’t know for sure but, you know, I thought I could go check it out,” she was rambling at this point, “But I don’t even know where this kind of stuff is. A warehouse? Abandoned streets? To be honest I didn’t even see _Fight Club_ , I just saw the movie poster. What’s it got to do with soap anyway?”

Connie seemed to have tuned out after _roommate_ because his expression became thoughtful and she could practically see him ticking off faces in his mind, even laughing when he was probably considering Christa. “OH!” he exclaimed, smacking his forehead with sudden realization. “Of course! Your roommate! Anniemaul!”

What did he just call her? “Animal?”

“No, no, _Anniemaul_ , it’s Annie’s stage name, if you can call it that. Get it? Sounds like Animal, but it’s Annie plus the word Maul.”  

“Damn,” Sasha whispered, letting out a low whistle. “That is _gangster.”_

“I _know_ right?”

“Did she pick it out herself?”

“You know what, I’m not sure. You’d have to ask.”

“I will. I’m also wondering what the other contenders were, if any at all. Is it a rite of passage kind of thing or—“ she caught herself getting off track and shook her head vigorously. “Whoa whoa, back up, so Annie _does_ fight?”

Connie cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t know?”

She frowned—she didn’t really like this mystery game anymore. “No…but in her defense, what she’s doing is illegal, right? I wouldn’t tell other people either, I guess.”

He looked uneasy. “Yeah, maybe. But I’d tell my friends. You know, in case something goes sour.”

Her heart started racing in her chest. “Does that happen often?”

“Around here?” He shook his head. “Not in ages. I mean, you got knocked out teeth and some broken hands and definitely some black eyes—Annie got one the other week—but no one has died. Not in this town. I wouldn’t go watch them if they were _that_ dangerous.” He reached over and gave her an assuring squeeze—she must have appeared more nervous than she thought. “Don’t worry. She’s a tough girl, she knows what she’s doing. I’m sure she has her own reasons for not telling you.”

She thought about what Bertolt told her. About a single blow to her head. “When’s the next fight?”

It took him a minute to recall. “Three days from now, at an abandoned strip mall north of town,” and Connie gestured to the small club, “The same time as my show! The one you promised to go to.”

“I don’t remember promising you anything,” she teased, even though she did remember expressing interest in his show. It was definitely something she wanted to check out but at the same time, Annie’s fighting secret seemed a little more important to her at the time.

It was like Connie was a mind reader. “Don’t worry, I understand. You need to go to the fight. But I’ve already thought up a way for you to repay me,” he winked.  “I want you to join the improv troupe,” and he held up one finger, “For one night.”

Sasha looked up at the stage. “Join you, Armin, and all those other fellas?” She snorted at the thought. “Don’t you want someone a little more….funny?”

He gaped at her, stared at her like she had just called him the worst names in the book. “You’re the funniest girl I’ve met!” he squawked. “God, you’d be _brilliant_ at this.”

She couldn’t help it, she blushed at his words. “Your argument, while short, is quite convincing,” she said quietly, so quietly he didn’t pick it up. Finally, her lips curled into a half smile. “Alright, what the hell. I’ll do it.”

The smug bastard grinned like he already knew the answer. Which honestly, he totally did. Anyone who knew Sasha knew this was her kind of fun. “One more thing. But this is more of a personal request.”

“Oh?”

“Come over to my house and let me make you dinner.” He grinned, his teeth brighter and whiter than hers ever would be.

She shifted her weight, switching her bag to the other shoulder. “Sounds like a date.” She wondered if she was coming off as confident or nervous, and she was embarrassed that she couldn’t tell the difference.

“I was hoping,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t have to be. I honestly just want to spend more time with you, and continue to impress you with my plethora of skills: such as cooking. What do you say?”

“I say it sounds good,” even though there were a million alarm bells going off in her head that this wasn’t a good idea, that she didn’t have time for romance with a boy she liked so dearly. Oh well, she’d deal with that emotional bullshit later. “But could you text me what you’re wearing? I’d hate to show up wearing the same dress,” and she poked her tongue out at him.

He returned the gesture. “I’d wear it better anyway!”

Sasha turned to leave, giving him one last wave goodbye, when he suddenly jogged forward and grabbed her wrist. “Hey, Sasha?”

She turned around. “Hmm?”

“I wouldn’t advise going down there alone,” he whispered. “Take Ymir or Mikasa with you.”

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. “You want me to take the _pregnant_ woman to a _fighting ring_?”

“She looks like she could throw a punch!” he grumbled, but in the end, he saw her point. “Fine, don’t take her. Take the little blonde who probably fights like a rabid Chihuahua.”

“You’re a moron,” she told him, but she found herself smiling. She slipped her wrist out of his grasp and instead intertwined her fingers with his. “I won’t go down there alone; wasn’t even planning on it.” She was about to leave, but decided to ask one last question. “Anything else?”

He squeezed her hand. “Don’t get involved. I don’t care if they’re making a Picasso painting of Annie’s face—“

“—wow, thanks for _that_ image—“

 “—anyone fucks with their matches and that’s when the guns and knives come out. Got it?”

She imagined a knife across Ymir’s face, a bullet to Christa’s chest. And God, if Mikasa were actually down there… “You said they weren’t that dangerous.” She mumbled.

He squeezed tighter. “Got it?”

“…Got it.”

He let go of her hand. “Good.”

Sasha hopped from foot to foot, trying to ease some of the tension that had found its way into her muscles. “So run these rules by me again. Don’t go alone.”

“Right.”

“Don’t pick a fight.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t get murdered.”

“You got it.”

“Cool. How hard could it be?”

“Don’t say that!”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Connie had some point in not jinxing things.

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“I’m coming.”

“No!”

This was probably the fourteenth time they’d gone back and forth on the matter. Sasha looked to Ymir for help, but it seemed she had already given up about seven times ago.

“Just let her come with us,” Ymir grumbled.  “If you don’t, she’ll just end up going down there alone.”

Sasha tugged at her hair. “Mikasaaaaaa,” she whined before throwing herself dramatically over the arm of the couch so her head was in Mikasa’s lap. “This is super-duper dangerous. You really shouldn’t be going.”

“Then why are _you_ going?” Her voice was hard, but her fingers were gentle as they kneaded at Sasha’s scalp. “Look, you won’t last two seconds without someone who can actually throw a punch.”

Sasha squawked at the accusation, but in reality there was some truth to that statement. Although, Ymir was a pretty good shot when she wasn’t wasted; but it was 30 minutes until the matches began and Ymir’s water bottle of vodka was already half gone.  “We’ll take Christa!”

“Are you kidding? Christa can throw a punch? Sasha, she’s so small someone could use her to punch _you_.”

“You’re underestimating the strength of a rabid Chihuahua.”

“What?”

She sighed. “Nevermind,” she mumbled, but she wasn’t quite done stating her case. “Look, I just don’t think you should be going down there while you’re pregnant, even if you aren’t showing yet through your rock hard abs.”

“Well,” and Mikasa pushed her off her lap, “You don’t get to decide that. I really appreciate you taking care of me, but I have got to get out of this house and do something other than work.”

Sasha huffed loudly through her nose.

“We’re practically walking into Fight Club, do you understand?” She stood up and put on her best I’m Serious **™** look. “These people do not train to be merciful here. Mercy is for the weak. Here, in the streets, in competition.  A man confronts you, he is the enemy. An enemy deserves no mercy.”

 “…you just quoted _Karate Kid_ , not _Fight Club_.”

Sasha shrugged and waved Ymir off. “I haven’t seen _Fight Club_ , but I assume they both bring forth the same general themes.”

“Not really, no,” Mikasa said flatly before she heaved herself off the couch. “Alright. I’m going to just put on my shoes.”

Mikasa was _killing_ her. Honest to God, her heart was clenching in a way that made her want to Web MD symptoms of heart attacks.  “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’ll be ready in 5 minutes.”

“I hate you.”

They borrowed Christa’s car (She was holed up in the library studying) and found the strip mall easily enough. If you could call it a strip mall—the thing wasn’t very long, couldn’t even hold enough stores than Sasha had fingers. Half the brick walls were torn down which created a pretty good stage, and someone had brought in some floodlights that were packed onto the bed of some pick-up truck. The whole atmosphere was like… monster truck rallies met cage fighting.

It was kinda awesome.

“This looks pretty fun,” Mikasa said, picking up her normally quiet voice so she could be heard over the noisy crowd. “If I could, I’d probably be doing this, too.”

Ymir looked elated at the thought, and even went as far as to slap her on the shoulder and tell her she’d watch a match of her against Annie any day. Sasha, not so much. “Seriously? You’re into this fighting shit too?”

Mikasa just shrugged, throwing a glare at a man who was looking at her funny—he backed off immediately. “Yeah, why not? I haven’t put my Taekwondo skills to good use for a long time.”

“You know Taekwondo?” Although, really, was it all that surprising? She got all that muscle doing something. “How…Chinese of you.” and she instantly regretted saying that.

Ymir choked back a laugh or _something_ while Mikasa fixed her with a look that was so finesse, so practiced, Sasha was already ashamed of her ignorance before Mikasa even opened her mouth. “Taekwondo is Korean.”

She could save this. “Right. Of course. I must have been thinking of Karate.”

 “Japanese.”

“God _damnit.”_

Mikasa smiled a bit and reached over to ruffle her hair while Ymir doubled over in laughter. “I’ll sit you down and teach you all the different martial arts when we get home.”

Suddenly, Sasha started to think there were a lot more martial arts than she thought. “You do mean factually, right? Because I don’t actually want you to kick my ass in Karate chop demonstration.”

“Regardless, the test is Monday.”

They’re little banter was cut off when Sasha suddenly noticed a presence looming over her figure. A loud sniff echoed off her right ear and she turned around to find a _tall ass man_ (taller than Bertolt, she was sure of it) leaning down and sniffing her. “Can I help you?”

“Smells like fresh meat,” he grinned and before Mikasa could even form a fist, a short haired blonde girl reached up and yanked the tall man by his collar.

“Mike, you’re scaring the shit out of them.” The woman rolled her eyes, but Sasha could tell she was fond. “Sorry. He’s ridiculous, but he’s pretty harmless. We just wanted to know if you newbies were looking to place any bets.” The woman stretched out an open palm. “I’m Nanaba.”

Sasha heard “Banana” but she was pretty sure that was…wrong. “Hey, I’m,” the chicken-shit part of her didn’t want to give her name out so she kept it to herself and hoped that wouldn’t prove to be rude. “I’m new here, yeah. I don’t really want to place any bets, but thank you.”

“I do!” Ymir sung and both girls could hear that drunken tone starting to seep in. “Show me the way, pretty lady,” and she and Nanaba walked off a few feet to a shady looking car with a serious need for a paint job.

“So,” Mike sniffed the air again, “What brings you two down here tonight? Anyone in particular?”

“Yeah,” Sasha drawled. She remembered the stage name. “Anniemaul?”

Mikasa hadn’t been clued into that detail. “They call Annie an animal?”

“You bet they do!” Mike barked out a laugh. “Good ole’ Annie. You guys came on a real good night. She’s fighting Levi.”

“Levi?”

Mike pointed to a young man off in the distance—shorter than Connie but much beefier, with a haircut almost as stupid as Jean’s. “Always a good fight, those two. They call him Bilbo Bags ‘em.”

Wow, that was a horrible fucking name. “Oh, I get it,” Sasha nodded. “Like the Hobbit. ‘cause he’s short.” Good thing Annie’s name was a lot better.

Mikasa didn’t see the humor in it. “Bags ‘em?” Her expression became skeptical. “Like as in, body bags?”

“It’s just stage name, it don’t mean no harm. He hasn’t killed nobody,” he paused, shrugging. “Well, at least not with his fists.”

Oh, my God.

“Oh, they’re up!” and Mike gave them each an unappreciated squeeze on the shoulder before he went off to sniff someone else. Ymir sidled up beside them as soon as the match started, and Sasha was surprised at how loud things got, how into it everyone was--especially when it came to the three of them. As soon as Levi threw the first punch Sasha was screaming so loud she thought her vocal chords would shrivel up before the end of the match. Ymir was sloshing around her water bottle above her head, jumping up and down, and Mikasa’s gaze was intense: she only opened her mouth to spew out what seemed like actual fighting advice for Annie, loud and clear above everyone’s shriller shouts. Sasha had her own advice, but it wasn’t exactly…authentic.

“Come on Annie! Wax on, Wax off! Wax on, Wax off!”

“That’s the fucking Karate Kid _again_ , you dipshit!”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Ymir!”

Annie was a good fighter that Sasha could admit. In fact, she was a _fantastic_ fighter. What Mike said about Levi being a good opponent was proving to be true as well; they weren’t dancing around each other like those professional fights on the televisions. Levi and Annie weren’t afraid to get a little battered if it meant landing a kick to Levi’s neck or a punch to Annie’s kidneys. It was almost poetic in a way, until Sasha saw Annie take a breather to spit some blood onto the concrete stage.

Totally awesome, but still.

Sometime after Annie was wheezing from a kick to the chest and Levi had a new blind spot due to the black eye she had inevitably given him, Sasha realized she didn’t really know how these fights ended. These things didn’t have rules or referees and the only scenario that was popping into her mind was death.

But it ended like this: one of Annie’s bloodied and wrapped hands swung behind her neck and the weight in her stance shifted. Like a firecracker, her right leg came up to swing hard, fast, and kicked Levi in the legs—he fell down and let out the loudest cry he’d given since the start of the match. He tried to get back up but his legs wobbled and he faltered, and with a reluctant look on his face, he tapped the concrete three times.

“I give, I give,” he groaned, and Annie walked over to help him up as the crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and boos; they were clearly divided half and half when it came to their favorite fighter. Sasha tried to pick up on their conversation as they walked off the stage, but Ymir was screaming so loud in her ear, she couldn’t.

“She won! She won! Our girl’s a scrapper!”

Across the crowd, Sasha finally caught sight of Annie—she was chatting and _smiling,_ even with blood in her teeth. Her eyes eventually flicked up where they met with Sasha’s: her smile melted into a frown. As small as Annie was, Sasha could see her shoulders sag from afar before she stuck one hand up and motioned for her to follow her behind a pick-up truck.

Sasha maneuvered through the crowd (she was sure Mike sniffed her another time on her way over) where she found Annie was sitting on an overturned crate, sucking on a water bottle. She sloshed the water in her mouth a bit before she spit it out, staining the sand beneath their feet red. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Despite her excitement from the win of the match, all Sasha could think of were the lies. “Bar fight my ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “To be truthful, it’s not all that different.”

Her voice was a little strange sounding and Sasha wondered how hard that Levi guy had kicked her in the knockers. But even though her face wasn’t nearly as bad as the time she had gotten the black eye, there was still some swelling and a long cut that ran down from her nose to the corner of her mouth.  It didn’t look like something she could hide. “So Bertolt has no idea you do this?”

Annie fixed her with a cold stare. “No.”

“Annie—“

Jumping up from her crate, she threw the water bottle on the ground and took a step forward, their chests almost touching. “Listen, we’ve been over this. He can’t worry. Don’t do that to him.”

It was selfish, sure, but she wasn’t above playing the _me me me_ card. “Well then, what about me? I’m worried! I care about you, too, you know!”

Eyes snapping shut, Annie let out a tired sigh. She sat back down on the crate and scooted to the far right side, patting the open space left on the other end. It was small and tiny and when Sasha sat down, their thighs were almost on top of each other. In all the time Sasha had known her, Annie had never been okay with someone being so close to her. “I know you do. I tried to keep it from you, you know,” Annie murmured. “I don’t want you to worry either.”

“Then don’t _make_ me worry. Stop doing this. Go back to the gym and fight with pads and rules like Bertl thinks you are.”

She smiled wryly. “I can’t do that.”

Sasha knew she damn well could quit, but she was just too stubborn. She tried playing a different card. The only card she had left. “You could get really hurt. One day it’s a black eye, the next you get knocked down and you don’t wake up.”

“You’ve been talking to Bertolt,” Annie sighed again. “I get it, I do. But little kids don’t stop riding their bikes just because they fall off a couple times. It was an accident.”

“Dude, not even _close_ to being the same thing. Work on your goddamn metaphors.”

Annie dared to laugh, this dry chuckle of a thing. “I guess not. But I’ve been fighting all my life and I’ve been training for years. I know what I’m doing.”

Before Sasha could offer another rebuttal, Levi appeared behind the truck, dragging along another crate for him to sit on. “You two look awfully cozy,” he teased, and Annie left a hard pinch to Sasha’s thigh. If it was a message to get off, she didn’t listen. “Good fight, Leonhart.”

“Always a pleasure to kick your ass, Levi.”

“Our score is tied up, you know.”

“Which is why it’s always a pleasure when I win.”

He reached for Annie’s water bottle and chugged whatever remained. “I hate that fucking kick you do. Do you think next time you could not render me paralyzed?”

Annie shrugged. “Wouldn’t be very effective if I eased up, would it?”

 He smacked his lips about in a mimic of her words and paired it with a roll of his eyes. “Well, enjoy the win while it lasts. Won’t happen again.”

It didn’t take long for Sasha to pick up that these two were pretty well acquainted. “How often do the two of you fight?”

They both shrugged. “Lost count,” and Levi cocked his head Sasha’s way. “Who are you?”

Annie sighed yet again, but she didn’t seem nearly as irritated. “This is my roommate, Sasha. Sasha this is—“

“Bilbo Bags’em, as I was told,” and Sasha knew her attempt at humor was diluted under her nervous smile.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, tone evident that it was not up for discussion. He shifted his weight and put one of his hands on his hips. “Levi will do just fine. So, what brings you and your…peppy ponytail to a fight?”

She tugged on said pony tail nervously. “Well, I found out Annie was a fighter and I wanted to see how…” she was going to say _good_ but decided on, “ _dangerous_ it was.”

“It’s not dangerous when you’re as good as her,” Levi admitted gruffly. “Look, I know this kind of fighting has its ugly reputations because of all those fucking films, but around here? It’s fine.” Another surprise struck Sasha when Levi leaned over and ruffled Annie’s already messy and slightly bloody hair. “We draw a little blood, get a little bruised, but I’m not trying to kill her. That’d be stupid as shit. I make the most money when I’m fighting her—people place the most bets. Can’t make any money if she’s dead.”

The look Annie tossed her was much too smug for Sasha’s liking. “Look,” Sasha began in one last attempt to try and steer Annie out of this, “Wouldn’t you make the same kind of money in professional and legal fights?”

Levi snorted. “Not everyone can be a big shot, kid. Besides, those fights have too many rules—drug screenings, weight limitations, gender separations, too much padding, and a bunch of other shit that takes the entire point out of fighting.”

“He’s right,” Annie piqued in. “I’ve been personally trained for years and this is the only kind of fighting that is even close to the stuff I was trained to do in the first place.”

 “Who the hell trained you, Chuck Norris?”

“It’s fine,” Levi cut in. “Really.” He pointed to his bruised eye. “She got me good for what I did the other week, anyway.”

Annie smiled, albeit smugly. “An eye for an eye.”

“It was an accident,” Levi huffed. “and by the way, easy on the neck kicks next time.”

“Sorry.”

Levi didn’t offer any goodbyes—he just left, throwing a limp hand in the air and called it a wave. Sasha got up from Annie’s crate and sat on Levi’s. Behind them, the two girls heard another fight starting up, and Sasha was pretty certain she could pick out Ymir’s shouts once again. The whole atmosphere, will dangerous, was still exciting and lively. Even Sasha had gotten roped into cheering. “You really like this, huh?”

“It helps pay for college,” Annie mumbled, “That’s for sure. Sasha—“

“You’re _really_ good.”

Annie blinked slowly, looking confused, and to be honest, Sasha didn’t blame her. After all the tugs and pulls to get Annie out of the ring, Sasha was having to admit that there was one detail that didn’t make this whole thing so bad: Annie’s talent. “I saw the black eye and I thought maybe you were in over your head but…” Sasha thought back to how quick, how nimble Annie was over Levi. “I was wrong. You can really throw a punch.”

“Thank you,” Annie breathed, looking relieved. “So does this mean you’re not going to tell Bertolt?”

Sasha knew she should tell Bertolt. In fact, she should have had her cell phone out right that second to call him so he could pick up his crazy girlfriend and make sure she didn’t do something like this ever again. But at the same time, Sasha felt she owed some loyalty towards Annie. That little part of her that told her to keep quiet somehow outweighed all the other annoying alarms and sirens going off in her head. Annie was her roommate, her friend, so Sasha decided she deserved one last chance.

“…I’m going to cut you a deal.” Sasha scooted the crate closer in front of Annie, their knees knocking against each other. “I won’t tell Bertolt, but—“

“But?”

“But,” she said louder, emphasizing that she need not be interrupted if she wanted to hear the rest of her ridiculous and ill-advised promise. “You have to win. The moment you lose a match _or,”_ She leaned in closer, “Any instance where you have to go to the hospital,” Sasha took her index finger and mimicked slashing her neck, “Deal’s off and I tell Bertolt. I tell him _and_ Reiner. We clear?”

Annie looked…excited. “So all I have to do I keep winning and you won’t tell Bertolt?”

“And no need for hospital visits!”

She clucked her tongue. “That one might be tough…”

Sasha’s lips curled smugly. “Then consider it a challenge. I expect great things. All my bets are on you.” She held out an open palm. “Got it?”

Annie slapped her hand into hers. “Got it.”

“Now, I just have one more question.”

“Hmm?”

“What the _fuck_ does a bar of soap have to with underground fighting?”

The final hit of the day was the slap of Annie’s hand to her own forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Important things: I've added a date at the top of this chapter and as soon as I post this, I'm going to go back and edit the other chapters to put a date on those as well--it should help you follow a timeline a little better. The date corresponds to the first part in each chapter because as you know, some of the chapters span more than one day. Another thing is this I've done an in depth outline where I've assigned each plot point to a chapter and I can say with 95% confidence there will be 13 chapters of various length in total plus an epilogue. I also get frequent questions on when chapters will be updated--the story will, unless I say otherwise, be updated every single week, usually on a Tuesday or Wednesday. I know this chapter was super heavy on the fighting aspect and there seemed to be a little repetition in the conversations, but I promise it's all important and relevant. I hope the chapter was enjoyable and please feel free to leave a comment! As long as it isn't any major spoiler, I'm happy to address your questions and concerns! Thank you for the amazing support so far!


	7. 50/50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they all might as well flip a coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nervous about posting this chapter meeeeep here goes

_October 20th_

_._

“Are you excited?”

Sasha was lounging away beside Mikasa as they waited for Armin to come in and preform her ultrasound. She was more than four months pregnant, evidenced by the small baby bump that she had grown accustomed to rubbing for the past week or so. Armin had told them they would probably be able to tell the sex of the baby and (unknown to Mikasa) all the girls had already started up a betting pool to see if it was going to be a girl or a boy.

Sasha was going to win.

“Yeah,” Mikasa murmured quietly, fingers dancing along the small bump on her stomach. “I am.”

She smiled fondly.

A few minutes later and Armin came in, hair pulled back and looking charming as ever. “Back!” He chirped. There was a clipboard tucked into the crook of his arm and he flipped through some pages. “We ran some more tests on your blood and things look even better than last time. Your red blood count is up and where it should be. Whatever you’ve been doing to help the anemia, keep it up.”

Sasha breathed a sigh of relief as Armin sat down beside Mikasa and asked her to lift up her shirt. “Dr. Smith will be in here in a second, so in the meantime, I’m going to apply this gel so we can look at the baby, sound good?”  

The room went quiet save for the sound of squirting gel. “How have you been, Mikasa? Any questions or concerns?” Armin’s voice was gentle, like an ocean breeze fluttering across a canvas sail.

Knowing Mikasa would say everything was fine, Sasha cut in, “She’s been good but, as I’m sure she won’t admit, she sleeps a lot. Is that normal?”

Armin’s gentle face was reassuring. “It’s quite normal. Her body is doing a lot of adjusting for the baby, so she needs her rest. It’s important she doesn’t overwork herself.” He wheeled away from her chair and towards the machine for the transducer. “Of course, if you think your oversleeping is a product of some specific problem, be it physical or mental, it’s important that you tell me. Psychological health is just as important as your physical health, especially during pregnancy, okay?”

Mikasa nodded. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’ve been doing better these past few weeks,” and she gave a thankful smile towards Sasha that made her heart soar. Mikasa was quiet by nature, that much she had deduced, but after a few months in the apartment, she’d grown a bit chattier; she wasn’t just living with nice strangers anymore, she was living with her friends.

“I’m glad to hear that,” and Armin put the transducer on her stomach. His tone lost some of its tenderness as his attention became divided between getting a clear picture and speaking. “I think you’ve got a good support system. Don’t be afraid to talk to Sasha, me, or any of your other roommates if you have any trouble. We want to make sure you’re in tip top shape.”

“I will, thank you. But I really think I’m doing just fine.”

There was a knock on the door before Doctor Smith let himself in. “Afternoon, ladies! I see Armin’s got the ultrasound all set up.”

Armin’s tongue poked out of his teeth. “Yeah, let me just…there! Got it!”

All heads turned to the monitor where, lo and behold, there was a picture of Mikasa’s baby. Small, black-and-white, but a baby nonetheless.

It was beautiful.

Suddenly, Mikasa’s hand darted out to grip Sasha’s, and she squeezed it tight. No one said anything while Armin continued to do the procedure, running the transducer along her stomach. Everything seemed normal, but Sasha couldn’t quite get the read on Mikasa’s face: Nervousness? Happiness? A mix of the two?

So naturally, Sasha did what she did best—she fell back onto humor. “Check out baby Big-Head,” she whispered, squeezing her hand again and running her finger along her knuckles.

Mikasa smiled. “I’m a sacred vessel,” and Sasha grinned because Mikasa had _finally_ watched that movie. “All you’ve got in your stomach is McDonald’s.”

“Taco Bell,” she corrected, because she was a nerd who could quote movies like that.

“No, I saw the trash in Christa’s car—it’s definitely McDonalds.”

Armin cut off their little banter with a very important question. “Would you like to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Sasha squealed out a “yes” at the same time Mikasa blurted out a “no.”

Oh _hell_ no. She would not go down without a fight.

“What!?” Sasha demanded. “You don’t want to know? How do you not want to know?”

Mikasa shrugged, slipping her hand out from Sasha’s. “Sometimes it’s better to be left surprised.”

She really, really did not like that answer, but only because she had fifty bucks at stake due to their little betting pool back at the apartment. “Well…can Armin tell me and then I not tell you?”

“No.”

Ugh. “Why not?”

“You’ll tell _everyone._ Don’t think I don’t know about that bet you girls have because I do.”

“If you want in, all you got to do is ask!”

“I have a solution,” Armin announced, ripping off the bottom of a spare piece of paper from his notebook on the clipboard. He scribbled something on there and kept it hidden from Sasha (despite her best efforts to crane her head and look) before he handed it to Doctor Erwin, who nodded and approved of whatever he had written. “Doctor Erwin agrees that this is the sex of your baby, what I’ve written right here.” He folded it before he reached into the pocket of his doctor’s coat and pulled out a Band-Aid, which he used as a sealant. “Now, whenever you want to know, all you have to do is open it up and see for yourself.”

Again, Sasha tried to make a swipe for the piece of paper, but he managed to hand if off to Mikasa before she could grab it. “This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to buy you cute little baby clothes if I don’t know what color to get!”

“Try green or yellow. Those are pretty neutral.”

“I don’t _like_ you.”

That smug bitch smirked as she stuffed the piece of paper into her bra (which was already looking a little too small, if Sasha was being honest.) “Thanks, Armin.”

“You’re welcome!” and he gave Mikasa a few tissues to clean her stomach up. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Sasha or anyone else,” he smiled slyly. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

The doctor’s appointment wrapped up after that, and just as everyone was collecting their things Sasha decided that she couldn’t really put off the favor she needed to ask any longer.  After all she needed to be there in ten minutes. “Actually, Armin, do you think you could take Mikasa home for me? I’ve…” she had practiced what excuse she was going to use in her head a dozen times (feed a bundle of fox kits at the clinic, pick out all the red M&Ms at the candy store, buy…milk?), but what came out was, “…got my own doctor’s appointment to go to.”

Armin’s brow furrowed. “Everything alright?”

Sasha glanced over and saw Mikasa was mildly concerned as well. Which was not the reaction she wanted to elicit. “Oh, I’m fine! I just have to get a few shots. Routine stuff. No big deal.”

“Ah,” he nodded, understanding. “Of course I’ll take you home, Mikasa.”

Dr. Smith leaned in and whispered something in Armin’s ear that had the poor boy blushing to the tips of his ears before he left, failing to stifle some big booming laugh. Armin rolled his eyes but followed, motioning for Mikasa to come with him.

Sasha waited until they were far down the hall before she crossed over to the elevators. Her eyes traced the hospital map until she found the correct wing; she punched the “up” button and waited for the lift for it to take her to the top floor.

She did her best to maneuver past any patient rooms while she headed to the west hallway where all the doctors’ offices were. His office was on the far end, name from Pixis’ email matching perfectly in gold lettering on the door. She knocked twice and seconds later, it swung open, revealing a man with long, hair, glasses, and the worst goddamn mustache she had ever seen in her entire life.

She wanted to rip it off.

“Ah, you must be Miss Braus.” He held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Yeager. Please, come on in!”

Reluctantly, she took it, giving it a firm shake before she followed him inside his office. It was boring, bland, and had _no_ personal touches like family photos or those motivational posters with cats on them. There _was_ a poster of the brain right next to his book shelf, but it was lame looking and the print was too small for her to read as she took a seat across from his desk.

“How’s your day been?” He was trying to be polite and kind like all doctors should be but Sasha simply wasn’t in the mood to go through all the social pleasantries.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about that couldn’t be handled over the phone?” she asked testily, leaning back into her chair defensively and crossing her legs, one knee over the other.

The doctor fixed her with a look that had her unwinding with guilt. It was this expression filled with disappointment and pity, and she realized this new doctor might not be aware of her history with her father and why she was so angry with him. Her refusal to see him was justifiable to her, but to him? She probably just looked like an asshole.

“Well, Miss Braus, you just need to sign some paperwork,” he said, words laced with a bit of bite, and a little more guilt washed over her as she sat up straight and tried to look decent. “I know this information sounds routine, but we need to make sure it matches with IDs and such so we can make you your father’s emergency contact and new overseer.” He pulled out a large folder with papers upon papers, some clipped into neat little packets, and splayed them out across the table top.

Sasha began the long process of signing this, signing that—she knew she should have at least been _skimming_ what she was agreeing to, but the doctor was doing a pretty good job of paraphrasing the major points. All she knew was she really wanted to get out of there because she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ivan Braus would walk through those doors. That, however, was impossible as Dr. Yeager explained her father’s current condition—he had lost the ability to walk.

“His speech is still there, there’s not much trouble understanding him, but you can tell his mind is really wandering when you try and hold a conversation with him. We’ve got him on medications for his behavior and mood which are really helping. The flailing’s gotten a bit intense and he’s had some trouble swallowing. As you know, your grandfather has hired a personal nurse for him to stay in his home to help him with daily tasks, so she’s been helping him cook foods he can eat. He can’t really afford to lose any more weight.”

They had gotten to the last paperwork concerning the medicinal trial. Mostly out of curiosity, Sasha read the entire paper about treatments and previous trials. “So he’ll come by the hospital twice a month to take this medicine that is supposed to help with the flailing? Will it give some of his mobility back?”

Dr. Yeager shook his head. “It doesn’t give anything back, it just…freezes time, if you will. Previous patients who have already tried the new medicine have shown slowed progression of the disease—mostly with physical symptoms, including the swallowing.” He paused to catch his breath with a long sigh. “I’ll admit it hasn’t worked on a lot of people. But for the ones it has worked on, it’s really helped. Your father has had similar progression to the ones it did work for, so I think he really has a chance.”

“So…what happens if it doesn’t work?”

His shoulders sagged. “Then there’s not much to do other than wait it out and make him as comfortable as possible.”

Ah. His inevitable death sentence.

She choked back questions of how long he would have and picked up her things. “Well, it’s been great, Doc, but if that’s all I’ve got to get going. I guess I’ll see you again if there’s an emergency or whatever.”

“Sasha…wait.”

She turned around and saw another expression that kicked the guilty disappointed one to the curb. He looked at her like she was… a patient, and she didn’t like it. Slowly, she eased herself back into the chair and waited.

“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you,” he continued. “Your father has Huntington’s; are you aware that it is hereditary?”

Complete and total relief washed over her. That’s why he was getting all worked up about! Honestly, she didn’t blame him, but luckily, she had some very good news. “Oh! Don’t worry I got that taken care of a long time ago. My parents did that prenatal testing and my dad said I didn’t have it. You can ask him.”

Dr. Yeager didn’t say anything for a very long time. His tongue kept rolling over his teeth, which in turn where nibbling on his lips in a visual display of uneasiness. “The thing is, when I was first meeting with Ivan, we went over medical histories, including yours.”

His eyes met hers.

“There’s no record of you ever being tested.”

Huh?

“What?” She scoffed. “That’s impossible. I’ve been tested. I’m sure you just made a mistake.”

“Sasha, I _triple_ checked. There’s no error. You…were never tested.”

Oh no.

No no no no _no._

_Fuck._

One hand was twisting in her hair, the other pulling and tugging at the skin of her face. Sasha felt like her lungs were going to burst and her heart was going to collapse and if she closed her eyes she would never ever wake up. “Shit,” she breathed out, and despite her fears she squeezed her eyes shut. “No, he told me….he _told_ me I got tested _years_ ago…”

When she opened her eyes again, Dr. Yeager was kneeling in front of her, one of his hands on her shoulder. “Breathe,” he told her. “Deep breaths or you’ll pass out.”

“I don’t,” she hiccupped and _goddamn it_ was she crying? “I don’t get it. Why would he lie about that?”

“Sometimes parents have to tell lies for their children.”

Well _fuck that._ Sasha didn’t really care if she thought her father was protecting her by telling her she had nothing to worry about—it wasn’t right. This was awful, but if there was a chance she was going to get it, she deserved to know about it.

Right?

…Or did she even want to know?

“Now, just because you haven’t been tested doesn’t mean you have it,” he told her, standing back up and heading over to the corner of his room where they was a mini-fridge. He took out a small water bottle and handed it to her before he sat back down at his desk. “You could be just fine.”

“Yeah, but I could also be _not so fine.”_  Sasha had read about the symptoms of Huntington’s a few years back when Pixis told her that her dad had it. But her mind was spacing on the probabilities. She twisted the cap off and chugged most of the water in one go. “What are the odds?”

Another sigh. “Well, Huntington’s has an autosomal dominant inheritance fashion.”

“Which means?”

“Each child has a 50% chance of inheriting the gene, and therefore inheriting the disease.”

Great.

_Like flipping a goddamn coin._

She thought about how many times she’d flipped a quarter, how many times it landed on heads or landed on tails. Last time she had done a coin toss was against Annie. They were at the store and they couldn’t decide which brand of ice cream to get. Heads, and Annie got strawberry and tails, Sasha got rocky road. It landed on heads, but Sasha demanded a redo. They tossed the coin _twelve times_ and it had landed on George Washington’s head each goddamn time. Sure, the _chances_ were equal, but it didn’t always play out that way.

Her lot in life had proven to be mostly heads: not in her favor.

She got lost in her thoughts and she didn’t realize the doctor was still talking. “I have some references for some genetic counselors, if you’d like to talk to someone before you get tested.”

“…No.”

He looked like he had heard that answer too many times. “I understand it’s very difficult to accept the possibility of this happening to you, but I think with new trials coming out and the future of medicine, it might be in your best interest to at least _consider_ testing. It could help.”

This time, more firmly. “No.”

Dr. Yeager sighed. “All I’m asking is that you see a genetic counselor. You can go from there.”

_“No.”_

“Why not?”

She stood up abruptly and headed for the door, intent on just leaving without giving an answer. But with her hand on the door knob and one foot out the door, she decided to leave with this: “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life _knowing_ that I’m going to die this early, slow, and painful death. I’ll take _wondering_ over _knowing_ any day.”

“Maybe. But with testing you might be able to _know_ that you’re going to _live.”_

Finally, her heartbeat was steady. Her mind drifted to what Mikasa had said back at the ultrasound, and she understood the appeal in the unknown.

“Sometimes, it’s better to be left surprised.”

 

* * *

 

The bus ride home was a daze.

By some miracle she had managed to get on and off at the correct stops. She chose a seat by the window and let her head rest against the glass; at least it was a pretty view. Autumn was in full swing and while most of the trees were pine, the campus had its fair share of trees with leaves that did burst with color before the cold winds tore them off. They were just starting to yellow and luckily there were no heavy rains that came and wiped out a lot of the leaves.

It was quite a few stops before hers, but the bus was pretty much empty. There was only a mother-son duo in the seats across from her. He was quite young but he chatted quietly, and Sasha could still pick up on the millions of tiny questions he asked concerning the passing scenery. When he asked what made the leaves change colors, his mother told him it was fairies.

Parents really shouldn’t lie to their kids.

Eventually she made it up to her apartment by some act of God, even sidestepping a parking meter that she normally would have run into. Part of her wondered why she didn’t _intentionally_ run into it, since she was feeling pretty pathetic at the moment. But of course walking into a parking meter drifted into thoughts of walking in front of a moving bus and she figured her brain was just trying to fend of the suicide risk she would inevitably become.

Ugh. This morbid shit was so not her style. She really hoped she would wake up in the morning and find it was all a dream.

The door was unlocked and when she stepped inside, she saw Mikasa at the counter watching Annie cook dinner.

“You were gone an awfully long time,” Mikasa pointed out, sitting up in the bar seat. “I thought you said it was just a routine check-up.”

Annie paused on dinner. “What’s up?”

Sasha put on her best smile. “Nothing, nothing. I just stopped by the store to, uh, buy some milk.”

Mikasa eyed her empty hands. “Where is it?”

Okay, so not one of her best excuses. “…I drank it.”

“You drank a _gallon_ of milk on the bus ride home?”

“I could be low on calcium. Osteoporosis risk and all that. So yeah.”

Judging by their stares, Mikasa and Annie were _so_ not buying it.

Annie stepped away from the stove and looked her over with great scrutiny. “…Have you been _crying_?”

Honest to God, Mikasa knocked over a fucking _mug_ she shot up from her bar stool so quickly. She marched over and grabbed her by the chin so she couldn’t look away. It was a very motherly thing to do, and for a split second Sasha felt like smiling for the first time since she left the hospital. 

While she hadn’t cried since she left Dr. Yeager’s office, her eyes felt puffy the whole way home, which meant she was going to have to come up with a real good lie. “Hey,” Mikasa murmured, and her hand slipped from her chin to run up along her cheekbone, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”

There was no way she could tell any of them that she might be sick—especially when the “sick” was as serious as it was. They all had their own stress in their lives and adding on to it wouldn’t be fair, especially for Mikasa, whose baby’s entire health depended on being in a stress-free environment.

So Sasha grabbed Mikasa’s hand and gave it a squeeze, holding it just like she did at the doctor’s office that afternoon. “There’s nothing wrong. Really,” which, wasn’t a total lie. There really wasn’t anything wrong, only a _possibility_ that there was something wrong at this point. But Mikasa and Annie weren’t going to accept a simple “nothing” so she had to come up with an excuse. “I’m… just sad.”

“Sad about what?”

She had to do better than gallons of milk. “I got a call from the vet clinic. One of the dogs that were staying with us passed away. He had been sick and I know that we’re not supposed to get _too_ attached but,” she shrugged. “I got attached anyway. He was just a little pup. Just sucks, you know?”

Thankfully, that seemed to be satisfactory. “I’m sorry, Sasha.”

“It’s okay. It’s a part of the job. I have to get used to it.”

Annie finished making dinner (BLTs with extra bacon on Sasha’s) just in time for Ymir and Christa to get back. They were late as it was, Christa going to pick up Ymir from a lunch shift, but they couldn’t get a chance to tease them about it because they were already arguing while they stepped through the door.

“I’m telling you, it was totally that other guy’s fault,” Ymir announced to the entire apartment. Christa rolled her eyes and flung her purse on the kitchen table before she dove on the couch, draping one arm over her eyes with a weary groan.

“That might be so, but there’s nothing we can do at this point, so just drop it,” Christa begged, rolling on her side so her face was pressed to the inside of the cushions.

“What’s going on?” Sasha asked.

Ymir took a bite out of Sasha’s sandwich before Annie slapped her hand away and gave her one of her own. “We got in a wreck because some asshole hit Christa’s car.”

“A wreck?”

“What the fuck!?”

“Are you okay?”

Christa dismissed their questions with another groan. “Yes, we’re _fine._ Wreck is too strong a word. More like fender bender.”

Ymir snorted. “The front of your car is ruined. It was a wreck.”

Mouth full of bacon, Sasha asked, “Well, what happened?”

Christa mumbled what sounded like a few swear words, so Ymir stepped in. “Nothing eventful. The asshole in front of us hit the brakes _hard_ in the middle of the goddamn road for absolutely no reason. Christa didn’t have enough time to stop, so of course, she rammed right into him.” Another bite. “And when there’s a fender bender, it’s always the fault of the person who hits the other car, regardless if the one who was hit was an asshat who stopped for no reason.”

“Enough, Ymir.”

“The car was a real junker. I swear I saw the back end of it already chewed up before she hit it. Bet they saw her BMW and figured she’d have enough money to fix the damage their teenage daughter did when she backed into the neighbor’s mailbox or something.”

“ _Enough.”_ Christa sighed and hopped up from the couch, rubbing at her forehead. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

Once they all heard the sound of the shower turning on, Ymir ran over to the kitchen table and began rummaging through Christa’s purse. “What are you doing?” Annie asked.

“The police officer…” she trailed off as she dug through the oversized purse, looking, “Called her something weird.”

“…Huh?”

“He looked at her driver’s license and called her something weird.” Ymir repeated. “I couldn’t catch it, but whatever it was it damn well wasn’t ‘Christa’.” She pulled out her wallet with a yelp of success, ripping open the little clasp and digging out her driver’s license. “Let’s see…”

Her face fell.

“…no _way.”_ Ymir breathed.

“What?” Sasha asked, already edging out of her seat from the anticipation. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s just—“

The bathroom door swung open and Christa poked her head out of the foggy haze. She had a towel hastily wrapped around her and her hair was sopping wet against her skull. “Hey, I ran out of shampoo, can I borrow—Ymir what are you doing?”

Straight out of slapstick comedy, she chucked Christa’s wallet as hard as she could across the room, without so much as a look to where it might land; it knocked against the stuffed deer on the wall before it fell to the ground with a loud thud. “Uh, nothing?”

Using one hand to make sure the towel was secure, she marched into the living room, leaving a trail of water on the hardwood, and grabbed her wallet. “I know what you’re trying to do. Cut it out. Just drop it,” she demanded, a tone that led for no further discussion, and marched back to the bathroom, taking her wallet with her.

A few seconds passed. “Trying to steal her credit cards?” Annie asked lightly.

Ymir said nothing; she stared at the closed bathroom door. “No,” she whispered. “It’s no big deal,” before she walked to the corner of the room, plucked a bottle of wine from the rack, and retired to her own bedroom.

But of course, Christa was back to her normal self after a long hot shower. She even managed to pull a slightly drunk Ymir out of her room and gather them all in the living room to hear about Mikasa’s ultrasound. Sasha couldn’t wait to find out what they would all say when they learned about her decision.

“So!” Christa clapped her hands together excitedly, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Mikasa shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“They couldn’t tell?”

“No, I didn’t let them tell me. I want it to be a surprise.”

The outburst was hilarious.

_“What!”_

“Aw, come on, don’t be a spoil sport!”

“I’ve got a bet to win.”

Sasha sighed, moving her hands up and down to placate the other girls. “Now, now, don’t be like that. It’s Mikasa’s choice. If she wants to be surprised, then we should respect that decision and not hound her.”

Ymir took a sip of wine. “That’s….a very adult and mature thing to say,” she passed the bottle her way and Sasha lit up with glee and took it. “Which deserves an adult drink.” But then Sasha kind of ruined the whole thing when she gurgled like a baby and sipped out of the bottle like a child before handing the bottle back.

“Yeah,” Mikasa agreed, eyeing her skeptically. “That is a very mature thing for you to say. Considering the tantrum you threw earlier.”

“I resent the word tantrum,” she said mildly, but that’s because her eyes were trained on another goal; namely, the piece of paper wrapped in a Captain America Band-Aid poking out of her bra (see? Too small.) She reached over and snagged it on one quick go, even avoiding a little second-base action in the process. “But don’t worry, I forgive you!” she sang as she hopped off the couch, dodging Mikasa’s punch to her face.

_“Sasha!”_

She raced behind the counter, stuffing the paper in her mouth while she grabbed the toaster off the counter and held it in front of her as defense; which, of course, was pretty ridiculous because everyone on the planet knew there was no way in hell Sasha was going to throw a toaster at a pregnant woman.

Mikasa was quick, and she grabbed the broom from the corner and stood opposite her, pointing it with threat her way. “Drop it.”

Like a dog, Sasha growled and shook her head.

“I mean it. I will beat you with this broom.”

Which was pretty ridiculous because there was no way Mikasa would ever beat Sasha with a broom. Total bluff. “Yeah? Go ahead.”

Yep, total bluff. “Sasha!”

She deflated a bit. “Please please please _please_ just let me look at it. Please. I’m begging you. I gotta know. Not knowing might kill me. Like, seriously. I could die.” Not…the best choice of words considering the day’s events.

_“No.”_

Sasha had a lot more fight in her, but Mikasa looked genuinely upset that she might open the paper and ruin the surprise. With a sigh, she set the toaster back on the counter and took the salvia-coated paper out her mouth. Lazily, she strolled over and reached for Mikasa’s bra strap, pulled it out, tucked the paper in the crook of her clavicle, and let the strap snap back into place. “You are no fun,” she teased, but just to prove she wasn’t mad, she leaned in and kissed Mikasa on the cheek for good measure. “Sorry. I was just messing with you.”

She looked sheepish as she took the piece of paper and put it in the pocket of her pants. “Captain America saves the day again,” she joked.

“Oi!” Ymir quipped from the living area. “Where’s _my_ kiss, you assholes?”

“You’re so needy!” she laughed, but otherwise waved her off. Suddenly, she felt unbelievably tired. She wanted nothing but to wash today off. “Well, I think I’ll take my shower now.”

“Wash your hair,” Christa mumbled from behind the wine bottle.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

Her shower was gloriously long, much longer than the ones she usually took. She washed her hair as promised, but mostly she just sat on the floor of the tub and let the water soak her to the bone. At first her mind wandered to the inevitable: did she or did she not have it? How long would she have before the symptoms showed? When did Papa start to get sick? She was thirteen, maybe fourteen at the time…but he wasn’t all that old either when it happened to him. 33? 34? Would she get it at the same time? Later? _Earlier?_ What if she got it earlier…

But then she started crying a bit and decided that thinking about it wasn’t going to cut it.

Sasha had to do _better_. She had to be _strong._ Crying wasn’t going to fix anything. Crying would only make everyone worry, and that’s not what she wanted. So, what she needed to do was: work on the crying, then work on not acting weird, and then just…forget about it and move on. At least try, she told herself. Fill her mind with happy thoughts, and then there wouldn’t any room for the sad stuff.

So she thought about her awesome job at the vet clinic and how she did well in her classes. She thought about how she was going to go to dinner at Connie’s tomorrow like she promised _forever_ ago and then to the comedy club to be in the improv troupe. She thought about laughter, from Ymir’s sly snickers to Christa’s muffled giggles and Annie’s embarrassing snorts. Then there was Mikasa, and when she _really_ laughed, she’d shake silently until she went blue in the face. Then, Sasha was smiling.

She turned off the faucet, toweled off, and got dressed. She felt better.

With fresh pajamas and her hair still wrapped in a towel, Sasha walked into her room to find a lump in her bed that wasn’t there before. Hands poked out from under the comforter and she saw Mikasa’s eyes peer at her through the dim light. “Hi,” she mumbled.

She tossed the towel from her head onto the ground and reached for a hairbrush on her desk. “Hi,” she smiled. “What’s this? We having a sleepover?”

Mikasa peeled back the comforter and scooted to the far side of the bed, patting the open space. Sasha finished brushing her hair and threw it in a sloppy bun before she jumped on to her bed, snuggling the comforter around the both of them.

“I heard you crying in the shower,” Mikasa whispered, and Sasha cringed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” she wiggled around more, scooting closer, her face inches from Sasha’s. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Sasha nodded.

Mikasa was quiet for a long time, so long Sasha was about to check to see if she had fallen asleep in her bed. “Remember what Armin said,” she finally whispered, “About having a good support system. It goes two ways. _I_ can help _you_.”

Mikasa was deceptively more perceptive than any of them gave her credit for. “You’re being such a mom right now,” Sasha teased, finding her nose and bopping the end of it with her finger tip.

“That’s because I _am_ a mom.” She murmured, her eyes downcast as they played with the edges of the comforter. “Well, at least I _will_ be. I need all the practice I can get. How am I doing?”

“The powwow in my bed is like, Grade A _Gilmore Girls_ shit. Your motherly instincts are spot on.”

She saw Mikasa take to rubbing her baby bump again, and Sasha couldn’t help but grin. Back when they had all asked if she was going to keep the baby, they had put the adoption option on hold but something told her in the weeks past that it wasn’t on the table anymore. Mikasa looked rather…attached already. “You’re going to be a great mom,” Sasha promised, and she cursed the croaky quality of her voice. All this damn motherly business had her thinking of the mother she never knew, and her lip trembled.

“There go the waterworks again,” Mikasa sighed, taking her hand off her stomach to wipe away some of Sasha’s stray tears.

Today just seemed like a losing battle in the “Pretend Nothing’s Wrong” territory, so in one last tactic change, Sasha _begged_. “I don’t want to talk about it. Stay, sleep in my bed, I don’t care but…please don’t make me talk about it right now. _Please.”_

She felt her exhale out her nose. “…Okay.” She leaned forward and kissed Sasha on the cheek, soft and skittish, but there.

“I see kissing,” and the two lifted their heads to see Ymir in the doorway. “I let it slide before, but I better _damn_ well get my share of kisses now.”

Laughing, Sasha scrambled to sit up, opening her arms wide. “Come and get ‘em, baby!”

Ymir ran full speed into Sasha’s bed, cursing when her leg knocked against one of the bedposts. She wiggled her way into the blankets and positioned her cheek in front of Mikasa. With a roll of her eyes, she leaned in and smacked a kiss to her cheek and in turn, Ymir pressed a much softer one to her forehead before she turned to Sasha.

“You too, you piece of shit,” and Sasha laughed, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Ymir was pretty affectionate when buzzed, but Sasha was surprised at the tenderness when she dropped a final kiss to her temple. “Night, ladies.” She got off the bed, nodding to Mikasa. “Have fun with your little sleepover.”

“’Kay,” her voice already drowsy and she snuggled back into Sasha’s bed.

Christa materialized by the doorway. “What’s going on here?”

“Goodnight kisses!” Ymir announced, and she leaned down a bit to Christa’s height, tilting her cheek in anticipation. She stood on the tips of her toes, but at the last minute, Ymir swiveled her head and snagged a quick peck on the lips.

“Ymir!” Christa chastised, but it was lost in her giggles.

From down the hall, they heard Annie shout, “Will you guys _shut up?”_ and seconds later, Christa, Sasha and Mikasa all listened as Ymir invaded Annie’s bedroom. There was some rattling and general noise that came with arguing before they heard a loud _pop._

“Ugh, God, did you just _kiss_ me?”

“Hahaha!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a sad chapter :/ I did my best in my research, and any inaccuracies were unintentional and I apologize. Also, this chapter was supposed to include another part, but it proved to be too much, so I guess that means the number of chapters has been knocked up to 14. The next one should be smaller, maybe 2k-3k, and will mostly just be Connie and Sasha. I wanted to make sure this got out early because next week I go back to work! You might not get another update until next weekend, so I hope this ties you over. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> also, ps: americans should start kissing their friends no one does that here and that's bullshit.


	8. compass rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sasha keeps her promises and Connie makes one to her.

_October 21 st_

Sasha didn’t sleep well that night—be it the unusual presence in bed or simply because her mind wouldn’t shut its trap, she didn’t know. After continuously checking the clock on her phone change from 5:06 to 5:48, Sasha decided to slip out of bed and start her day early, leaving behind a still sleeping Mikasa on the other end.

Laptop slung around her shoulder, she walked down to the coffee shop, intent on sitting there and dicking around on the internet until her shift at the vet clinic at 9. The cafe was pretty much empty, save for a very tired looking chap in the corner studying what appeared to be chemistry—been there, done that. There were only two employees at the moment, one of which was Christa.

Oh yeah. She worked here.

“Dude,” Sasha yawned, stepping up to the counter. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled at her, chipper as _always,_ though she seemed pretty tired. “I never get the morning shift, but we’re short two employees today, so I came in. Why are you here?”

“I always get up this early. Besides, can’t a gal get a coffee?”

Christa giggled. “No, I mean, what’s wrong with the espresso machine at home? It foams the milk and everything.”

Sasha tossed her a Look. “I am done trying to work that chrome nuisance that needs a certified engineer to even find the _on_ button.”

“You mean a barista?”

It was true. Only Annie and Christa knew how to work that thing. “Blah blah, yeah whatever. Can I have…whatever has the most espresso?”

She clucked her tongue and grabbed a ceramic coffee mug from the stack. “That would be our signature Heart Stopper. Which I am _not_ making you. I fear your heart would actually explode.”

Sasha could feel the bags under her eyes forming a coup to take over this very coffee establishment. She was tired and she needed to replace every drop of her blood with caffeinated beverages. And if it so happened to stop her heart in the process, so be it. Today she found she no longer cared.

“…What?” and Sasha lifted her head to see Christa staring at her all wide-eyed and worried.

Ooh….had she said that out loud?

“Relax,” Sasha chuckled. “It’s early. Morbid jokes keep running until I _get my coffee.”_ She sighed. “Can I just get a cappuccino with an extra shot?” She saw her start to ready the dine-in cup and suddenly changed her mind. “On second thought, make it to go, please.”

“If you stay,” Christa readied the espresso machine, “I’ll go put on your favorite Pandora station and I won’t change it until you leave.”

Blues Traveler. Fuck. Yeah.

“You’re truly an environmentalist on a mission,” she murmured, thinking about how it was probably best she didn’t waste a to-go cup when she didn’t need one. “Fine, fine. I’ll stay.”

Her coffee was done expertly and quickly, topped off with foam and a heart drizzled in caramel sauce. It had all been done so fast; Sasha realized Christa must have been doing this for a long time. Which, come to think of it, didn’t make much sense. “Christa, why do you have a job if you don’t need the extra money?”

She shrugged. “I like working, I like being busy.”

“But a coffee shop? Filled with cranky businessmen and hipsters who should be spending money on bettering their college education?”

“I like coffee!” she laughed. “Now go sit down and drink _your_ coffee so _you_ can stop being _cranky.”_

Sasha nodded and found herself drifting to the back where the lonely, sad looking student studying was seated. “Organic Chem? I think I can help you out…”

 

* * *

 

At least work was a fun distraction.

Eren came in a little after noon with kittens that weren’t in a box, but in an actual, proper carrier. “Hey, Sasha,” he greeted warmly, but he grimaced as he came up to the counter. “You okay?”

She played with the second cup of coffee she had gotten from the work room before she started her shift. “Well, when you’re looking at me like that how could I be anything but absolutely charmed?” and it was then she realized yesterday’s events + no sleep = a bit of an attitude problem.

He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just…you could sublease space on the bags of your eyes.”

“It’s been a rough few days,” she mumbled, ignoring the jab at her puffy eyes. “Didn’t get much sleep.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

As easy as it would be to open this can of worms on Eren, it didn’t seem fair. She wouldn’t exploit his vague acquaintance status. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Too late,” he answered immediately. “Is there something I can do to help?”

She…hadn’t really expected that from him. But then again, the young lad did ooze determination, if his impromptu adoption of five kittens proved anything. “That’s very sweet, but no. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should take a day off or something?” His expression became distant, and she picked up that it must be his “thinking” face. “…You should probably relax. Go out and party.”

Ah, a party. It had been too long. But that wasn’t the typical relaxing hobby. She grinned. “You’re such a college freshman.”

Eren returned her smile, but shook his head. “Nah. I don’t go here.”

“Too young, or been there done that?”

“I’m 18. Just graduated high school last spring.” He sighed. “Well, the whole college thing kind of blew up in my face after what happened with….yeah. My family and shit. I’m getting a late start on things. But I’ll probably enroll in the police academy once I feel my mom’s good with being on her own all the time.”

“Bribing me with partying so you can practice your future police busts, huh?” Sasha pulled the carrier over the counter and opened the gate to let Eren in the back to see the vet. “I see how it is.”

“Now, now, I’m not a cop yet. I still have time to fulfill all my escapades.”

She spotted the veterinarian, Moblit, and he waved them back. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be subjected to a polygraph. What will the esteemed law enforcement think of you then?”

Moblit started taking the cats out of the carrier and Sasha watched half-heartedly; giving cats shots was something she’d already seen dozens of times. But part of her job was to watch and learn regardless. “They shouldn’t be too worried. I don’t drink,” Eren admitted. “Did it once, and that was more than enough.”

Oh, had she been there. But she didn’t chicken out after one measly hangover. “Next morning was pretty rough, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he grumbled. “Anyway, watching others get drunk is just as fun, if not more. I was looking to go to that Halloween party that the fraternity apparently throws every year? I’ve heard people talking about while I’ve been in town.”

“ _The_ fraternity? Eren, there’s like 50 fraternities here.”

“You know what I mean,” he groused. “Since I don’t go to school here and I live outside the town, you’re…pretty much the only one I know here besides the Starbucks barista. Thought I might meet some new people. But I don’t know if I could get in without a college ID.”

Sasha stifled a laugh. “Dude, don’t worry, you can get in just fine. It’s a frat party, not Hollywood’s Exclusives.”

His enthusiasm was crushed at the sight of Totoro mewling and crying when Sasha and Moblit were giving the shots. “So, I’ll see you there?”

The fraternity (nicknamed The Scouts) had this ancient, decrepit house that was perfect for parties, particularly of the scary Halloween genre.  She hadn’t gone last year, but she’d gone the previous three and it was a good time. Everyone got really dressed up and there was tons of booze and the frat put a lot of work into the decorations. And maybe, just maybe, a party would do her and the rest of her roommates some good.

Plus she had an awesome costume idea.

“I’ll see you there.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So you’ll stand right here, and slide your hands in like this, got it?”

Again, Sasha practiced slipping her hands under Connie’s armpits while he folded his own arms behind his back. “Got it. But tell me, doesn’t practicing the games kind of defeat the purpose of an improv troupe?”

As Connie spoke, Sasha practiced gesturing her hands with what he was saying, just as the game would be. “Nah. The scenario will be a total surprise, but you need to know how to play the games beforehand, otherwise it’ll be pretty terrible for the audience. God, get your fingers out of my nose.”

“Make me!” she taunted, taking her other hand and pulling at one of his ears. Armin laughed at the two of them from the audience pit, making sure all the chairs were ready. “Since this is pretty much a rip off of Whose Line, is there going to be a ‘host’?”

“Well, normally we have a lot more members on rotation to do our weekly shows, but apparently there’s a few killer exams, so we’re short a bunch of people. Your friend Jean is going to round out tonight’s cast and Marco’s going to be the host.”

“No way!” Sasha squealed, removing her arms from Connie’s underarms. “That’s great. Are you going to make Jean dress up as a girl, too?”

“Uh-uh.” Connie answered as Armin hopped on stage and handed Connie’s outfit to put on after their short intermission. “He’d make the world’s ugliest girl. I wouldn’t subject our audience to such horrors, even if it is so close to Halloween. We want them to come back, after all.”

“You do have a point.”

“Now, hurry up and get ready! People are going to show up soon!”

And boy, did people show up.

For as small as the club looked, it held a lot of people. Most of them sat almost shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh—some of them were standing in the back and a few of them were up near the floor of the stage. Luckily, Ymir, Christa, Annie and Mikasa had gotten pretty good seats because as soon as Mikasa came in and went to go sit on the floor, (with no complaints as usual, the dumbass) she made an unintentional spectacle of herself and about 9 people jumped up and offered their seats. Pregnant Perks.

“First game is called Two Lines!” Marco announced from his little “desk” off to the side (He was sitting Indian style on the floor). “Which is called that because well, some of them can only speak two lines. Okay, it’s for Connie and Armin who will be playing the part of two competitive pageant girls about to perform in the Miss America pageant. Sasha will join them as their weary and ill-tempered coach. The only difference is Armin and Connie can only say two lines. Armin, yours are ‘I like your dress’ and ‘Do you think I’ll win?’ while Connie, yours are, ‘Sounds questionable’ and ‘What do I look like?’ Okay, have at it!”

The three of them settled on the stage and it was then Sasha realized just how hard improv was—she had no idea how to start, or where to go from there. But luckily, Connie started the whole thing off. He adjusted his wig and fake breasts before twirling side to side, his skirt fluttering about. “What do I look like?”

“Just like all these other girls,” Sasha answered. “Which means you’ve got to find a way to stand out. A pretty face isn’t going to be enough.” And the audience laughed while Sasha took a long gander at Connie and tried not to grimace.

Armin was playing with the hem of his own skirt before he looked off into the blank space and pointed. “I like your dress!” He squealed, and Sasha grabbed him by his arm roughly.

“Do not compliment the competition! It gives them a leg up.”

Armin’s eyes went wide. “Do you think I’ll win?”

Before Sasha could answer, Connie butt in—“Sounds questionable.”

 “Armin, you’re the only one who can juggle…” she struggled for a thought, “…flaming banana peels. You’ve got a good shot.”

Armin bit his lip to keep from laughing and Connie tapped Sasha on the shoulder. “Sounds questionable,” he complained.

“Coming from the guy whose talent is reciting the alphabet!” she screeched.

“…Do you think I’ll win?” Armin asked, tone shifting to make it sound rhetorical.

“What do I look like?” and Connie matched Armin’s harsher tone.

“Girls, girls you’re both…pretty,” and she scrunched up her fact in disgust. Again, the audience laughed. “But looks aren’t all of it. They’re judging you on your talent and character as well.”

“What do I look like?” Connie wailed over and over again while Armin tried to compliment others in the audience on their dress. He even walked out into the crowd and pointed to a young man in a t shirt and jeans and said “I like your dress!”

It was the final straw as Connie leaned into her and whispered. “Okay, but what do I _look_ like?”

“I’ll tell you what you look like! A disaster in a bad wig and fake boobs that’s pennies short of a goddamn dime!”

The audience erupted into laughter and Armin even fell out of character to cover a hand over his mouth in shock. Sasha and Connie were at a standoff, staring at each other. Connie wagged his finger at her and mouthed “you better watch it,” a grin fighting to split his face in two.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad at this after all.

 

* * *

 

“Welcome to Casa de Connie. Home of the World Famous Couch of 15,000 dollars as well as some pretty damn good lasagna, as you’ll find out in about an hour or so.”

Sasha caught sight of him tossing a pair of house keys into a bowl on the coffee table just before he rounded the corner to where his and Armin’s bedrooms were. “Make yourself at home!” he shouted. “I just have to get all this make-up shit off. I think Bertolt _glued_ eyelashes onto my face.”

After the hit that was their improv show, Sasha agreed to come over to Connie’s house for dinner, as was the other end of that promise from long ago. Connie hand managed to kick Armin out of the house by waving a 20 in his face and telling him to go out to a diner with Mikasa and talk about, “Oceans and whatever else it was you two shits liked.” Mikasa was more than willing to go, but probably because she didn’t want to hear teasing from the other girls all night because Sasha _might_ have pulled her on stage during one of the games and she _might_ have used her pregnancy for a gag about bad spokespeople and condoms.

Sasha thought about sitting on the couch and waiting, but her curiosity got the best of her and she went to go find Connie’s bedroom. Armin’s was the guest bedroom with no on-suite—neat, tidy, but overstuffed with a lot of books. The next room was Connie’s, and she was surprised at what she found.

His room was pretty clean (a few clothes here and there, and the bed was a bit wrinkly) but what was most captivating was his wall opposite his bed—the biggest world map she had ever seen in her life, decked out in colored pushpins, yarn and a few photographs. Only a few photos, because, most of the photographs were hanging on clothespins on makeshift laundry lines across his ceiling and other bedroom walls.

“Wow,” she breathed. Taking a step closer, she located their little college town on a map, pinned with a gold thumbtack, and traced the blue string across the Pacific to Nepal, where there was a single polaroid of him and two locals bundled up in coats in the mountains. Next, she followed a green string that led her to Africa, specifically Morocco, where there was a photo of Connie standing alone among a brightly colored blue mosque. Sasha recognized the place instantly because Ymir had a photo of her and her mom in the same place up in her bedroom.

There were _tons_ of places marked in all different colors that Sasha couldn’t quite figure out the pattern or code, if there even was one: Norway in yellow, Uruguay was in red, India in purple.  As she was looking at the pictures, she found the best Polaroid of him was tacked up in Canada—him, a young girl, a younger boy and two adults in a sea of grass with a picturesque mountain in the background.

Connie came out of the bathroom doing a last check for lipstick by wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Okay, the make-up really isn’t that bad, but I’m not letting Bertolt put me in red lipstick again. That shit does not come off. I liked the peach colored ones bet—oh, I see you found the old family.”

Sasha jumped back a little, the Polaroid over Vancouver fluttering to the ground; she made haste to pick it back up again. “Sorry.”

He grinned. “It’s all meant to be seen--why else would I have such a big honking map?” He stood behind her, his slightly smaller height perfect for resting his chin on her shoulder. “That’s my mum and dad. The little nasty thing my parents brought home and decided to call my little brother is Dana, and the one with the shit-eating grin would be my sister Frankie.”

Sasha tried matching his sister’s grin and reached behind to give Connie a noogie. “I like all your parents’ choices for naming you guys. It’s neat.”

“Ex _cuse_ you, if you’re insinuating what I think you are, I’ll have you know Connie is the manliest, raddest name ever. I know that because it’s short for Conrad. See? Even has the word rad in it. You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous? Hah! Your middle name is Abigail!”

“….I’m going to kill Armin.”

Laughing, Sasha started wandering around the room looking for more pictures of him and his family from Canada. “My name’s short for something too.”

“No, wait, don’t tell me. I’ll figure this out.” One minute of silence passed before Connie’s eyes lit up. “Alexandra?” She nodded. “Wicked cool. Russian?”

“Dunno. It’s been a family name for the longest time, so maybe somewhere down the line.” Her eyes drifted back to the map and she looked for a tack over Russia—she didn’t see anything, only strings connecting different countries.

“Ever been to Russia?” Connie asked quietly, so softly she wasn’t even sure he had said it.

“No,” Sasha answered back, almost just as quietly. “Surprised you haven’t though. You’ve been to like, _every continent,”_ and she whistled in admiration. “I haven’t even left the state.”

“Never?” Connie asked, skeptical. “You’ve never left this state? Not even to the next one over to pop in for a beach visit?”

She laughed a bit, a sound that didn’t quite leave her throat. It _was_ odd, now that she truly thought about it. She hadn’t even been to the beach. “No. I’ve always been here. I haven’t…I could never afford it.”

“Nah,” he shook his head bopped her nose before he went over to his bedside table and pulled out a monstrous stack of printed emails, brochures, sticky-notes with phone numbers, you name it. “You could do it. Think I’m made of money? No way. You just got to play your cards right. Like with some guy with a charity in India,” He pointed to the spot marked in the northern end of the country, “Or another woman who needed some help over in Mexico,” and he pointed to some photos hanging above his closet. “There are so many opportunities out there, and they aren’t too terribly expensive. You just got to work for them.” He paused, “I’m a theater major, want to know why?”

Sasha thought it over, pretending the answer wasn’t obvious. “Because you want to be the next Tom Cruise?”

“Ouch. That stung. I have higher standards than that.”

“Then what?”

“Theater, improv, it’s all about skills! It’s being able to match personas! Draw up information in a heartbeat and read other people’s body language. I’m here to learn how to talk to people and put on my best face. To make those connections with other people. I don’t give a shit about getting a degree here—hell, I’m 23 and I’m still just a third year in undergrad because I’m too busy doing all _this.”_

The map in the room suddenly felt larger than life.

“Sasha. Alexandra. Whoever you are, you can do whatever! You can go wherever! Your life has only just begun!”

And then it felt crushingly small.

All at once, the feeling she had been trying to suppress all day came flooding back. Nothing was beginning for her—at least nothing _good_. Ever since she spoke with Dr. Yeager she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life could have been sliced in half already. If she were sick, she’d make it to 45 if she were lucky. And half of that wouldn’t be a life she could live independently doing what she wanted.

So to have Connie tell her she could do whatever wherever _whenever_ was a punch to the gut.

Apparently, she looked like she took said hit. “Overkill monologues are part of the theater gig too,” He suddenly laughed nervously. “Sometimes I add a bit too much of dramatic flair. Sorry about that.”

“You’re fine,” she whispered hoarsely, her throat incredibly tight. “It’s just…”

“What’s wrong?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed. “You can tell me, yeah? It’s just you and me here.”

She snorted and nodded to the wall. “And the rest of the world.”

“Exactly.”  Laying back on his bad, he wiggled around like a worm until he was resting against the backboard of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. With plenty of space beside him, Sasha crawled over to him but surprised them both when she leaned her body against his drawn legs, resting her head on his knees. He laughed quietly again before he reached over, tugged her up beside him, and readjusted so she was resting against his side, head on his chest. His fingers raked through her hair for minutes on end before he tried again. “You okay? You seem a little out of it.”

“Fine,” she lied, too quickly, to panicky, that even she wouldn’t buy that. She sighed, taking one of her hands and splaying it over his chest; one of her fingers felt something round underneath his shirt. Her eyes trailed up to the chord around his neck and when she tugged on it, Connie pulled it out for her to see.

A fucking _coin._ How ironic.

“This here is my lucky coin,” he started, “With this mere boliviano…..I lost a coin toss that had me driving across the deadly Yungas road in Bolivia. Worst drive ever.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ll find you need the dictionary definition of ‘luck.’”

“Ah, but you see, that one coin toss? That dare I decided to take? My first real adventure. It’s how all of this,” and he gestured to the map, “Started. I’d call that pretty lucky.”

The irony of it all had Sasha laughing. “What I wouldn’t give for a lucky coin.”

He twirled the coin in his fingers for a few seconds before he slipped the whole necklace off and draped it around Sasha’s neck. “Lacking on the luck, huh? Well, there you go,” he said quietly, making sure the coin laid face up on her chest. “Now a little luck will come your way.”

When she smiled, it felt genuine. “Thanks.”

“Don’t you even mention it!” Connie shouted, jumping off the bed with great exuberance. He dragged Sasha along with him and set her back in front of the map, dead center. “Oh yeah. Everything’s changing, I can feel it. Energies are shifting. Auras are turning different colors. Things are going to be looking up.”

“Oh, really?” She cackled. “Tell me, what stocks should I be investing in?”

“Not stocks, something better.” He held her still by her shoulders, as if she was contemplating running away. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you like to go?” Connie’s hand was slapped over her mouth before she could even open it to answer. “Choose carefully. First place that comes out of your mouth is where we’re going, even if it’s Minnesota to see the world’s largest ball of twine. ”

“Going?” He words were muffled against his hand. She licked it and he yanked it away, wiping her saliva on his jeans. “Connie, I _told_ you—“

“And I told you, you just got to play your cards right. With hard work, perseverance,” he tugged on the coin around her neck, “and maybe just a little luck, we’ll make it happen. Just…pick.”

Honestly, she didn’t know. Sasha had daydreamed about leaving and going all around the world before, but she had never thought on it long enough for her heart to dream up a favorite spot. “What was in Bolivia?” She whispered.

“Hmm?”

She tried again, speaking louder. “What did you see in Bolivia that started all _this_?” her hands flying across the folds of the map.

“ _Salar de Uyuni_ ,” he whispered back, voice impressively accenting the Spanish words.  “I walked on the sky.” He spoke with such wonderment, such _awe_ it was like the heavens were below his feet that very second. “Go on,” he urged again, intent on getting her to answer. “What is it you want to see?”

The first thing she wanted to say was British Columbia, but that seemed lame; at least in Connie’s eyes, it would be. He grew up in Canada—he could always go home if he wanted to. Next, she wanted to say California, but she held her tongue there too. Even though it was hundreds of miles away, it still didn’t feel far enough. But where else was wine country? “I want to see the vineyards,” she murmured, thinking it was quiet enough that Connie wouldn’t pick it up, but he did.

“Vineyards? You want to see wine country?” He huffed, air coming out of his nose and blowing the strands of hair draping her cheek. “That one’s easy. I can take you to a vineyard whenever you’d like, my parents _own_ one.”

“You own a vineyard!?” she shouted, her attitude making a complete 180 at such an awesome discovery. “That’s so cool! Did you ever work in the fields? What’s it like? Do you have pictures?”

He laughed. “Whoa, what’s with the vineyard fascination?”

Taking a deep breath, she clutched on to her new lucky coin and prayed whatever would come out of her mouth would make sense. “…My dad always wanted to own a vineyard. He talked about it all the time. I guess after so many years of pathetic soy bean plants on our grounds, vineyards started to seem like gold mines.” She scratched her neck, sheepish. “Ah, sorry, that probably seems silly…”

“No, not at all.” God, he was looking at her like she was the very world taped up on his wall. “Your dreams aren’t silly. But, you know, I’ve seen all there is of wine country over _here_ ,” he paused and sighed dramatically, and Sasha’s heart sped up in anticipation. “I hear there’s some pretty good wine country over in Europe. Italy. Spain. France. The works.” He tossed her a wink. “Just sayin’.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious. We could make _Europe_ happen are you _serious._ ”

Connie shrugged, looking particularly smug. “If that’s where you’d like to visit, I don't see why not.”

“Don’t mess with me. Don’t get my hopes up,” she wagged her finger at him threateningly. “I’ve dreamed of tasting goddamn Italian wine on a goddamn gondolier my whole _goddamn life_.”

“It’ll take a little digging around and money saving on our part, but I’m sure we can make it happen.”

Squealing, Sasha reached over and pulled Connie in the tightest hug she could manage. When he finally managed to peel her off him, he smiled and grabbed her hand again, this time not so feather soft, but with a grip that had her thinking this was his way of promising. “Oh, awesome. With all these Italian plans, it’s a good thing I’m making lasagna.”

“I bet this was your plan all along,” she teased. “Got a bottle of Chianti for us?”

“God, whatever that is it sounds expensive.”

“Wine, idiot,” and she noogied his head again. “Your parents should have taught you better than that.”

“Tell you what. Let’s compromise with the expensive wine considering the plane tickets we’ll have to buy. Instead, you can have as much of Armin’s shitty Coors Light in the fridge as you want.”

Hey, beer was beer. “My kind of ale, Abigail.” And she fought to snicker at her own bad rhyme.

“Have I mentioned I’m going to _kill_ Armin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was longer than I thought it would be. Oh well. This is what I call the "calm before the storm". The next chapter might take awhile because it's uber important--it all goes down at the Halloween party! In the meantime, I hope you liked this "filler" chapter of sorts. As for the improv scene, please trust me when I say I tried a million ways to get it into words, but those kinds of things are hard to translate on paper, so I had to be sneaky. Hope the short tidbit was still funny? Thanks so much for the feedback! I've gotten an incredible amount this last chapter, more than I ever thought I'd get! I appreciate every single one of your comments, thanks so much!


	9. lasso of truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a Halloween party goes south.

_October 31st_

_._

“Where the _fuck_ did you get a bow and arrow?”

Slinging her braid over her shoulder, Sasha showcased her weapon proudly, holding it in perfect position. Instinctively, everyone in the room cringed and ducked, save for Bertolt, who was too concentrated on Annie’s costume make up. He sighed when his girlfriend had winced just enough for him to slip up on the stitch work around her mouth. “Honey, please stay still,” he chided lightly. “I don’t want to start from scratch.”

“You’re the one who wanted to go as Jack and Sally,” she mumbled dejectedly before she glanced back up at Sasha who looked ready to shoot and spear an apple on the kitchen counter. “Everdeen,” Annie tried again. “Slow your roll. Where’d you get the bow?”

Taking a few extra seconds to admire her kick-ass Katniss costume, she then pulled back the bow and let the arrow fly—it speared the apple off the fruit bowl, as well as managing to give Reiner the shock of his life, hand dangerously close to the grabbing said fruit. “Dick’s Sporting Goods,” Sasha answered casually, while Reiner continued to squawk in surprise.

Ymir, jumping on an opportunity for a terrible joke, leaned back into the loveseat to play with her Lasso of Truth. “God, I _hate_ Dick’s. Dick’s _suck.”_

Picking up on the lame double entendre, Reiner (who was currently fixing his Superman costume) stopped all progress on fiddling with his cape and announced, “Really? I fucking _love_ Dick’s.”

Ymir held up her hand and Reiner came by to slap a high five before they fell into a fit of gross laughter.

Seconds later Christa barged through the front door, dressed fully in costume. Much to Sasha’s delight, she discovered Christa preferred to spend the entire day dressed up on Halloween and even went to her classes dressed as what was probably the most adorable Tinkerbell ever. Christa had obviously spent a lot of time and money on fabrics to build her forest inspired dress, and it had paid off. “Mikasa!” she sung loudly, just as Marco, Connie, Jean and Armin filed into the apartment behind her. “I’ve brought you the rest of your undead legion!”

Mikasa wandered out of her nook of a bedroom wearing a ratty white shirt and black pants covered in fake blood—Bertolt had finished her make up an hour ago, and he had done a damn fine job making her look like a zombie. Marco, Jean and Armin were the last ones on the list to get some zombie make-up before they all chipped in to finish off Mikasa’s costume—which would be turning her baby bump into a zombie baby crawling out of the womb. Sasha hated the idea, but she kept that little tidbit to herself.

Connie was supposed to finish off Ymir and Reiner’s superhero gig, but if the blue arrow on his head were any indication, it would seem he changed his mind.

“Avatar Aang?” Ymir screeched, disappointed. “Dude, what the fuck, you were supposed to be Batman.”

Connie started tossing his homemade gliding staff around in horrible imitation. “I know, I know, but after I thought about it, I decided I couldn’t measure up to Reiner’s Super Pecs and your Bulletproof Ass. I’m too short, no matter if my arms are Marvel worthy. ” He flexed.

“This is _DC_ you air nomadic _moron_ ,” she corrected before she did a twirl. “But you can make it up to me by complimenting my ass again.”

Jumping on the bandwagon of terrible jokes, Sasha grinned and said, “The greatest ass for the world’s Greatest Ass.”

“Guys, I never cry, but,” Ymir joked, wiping at nonexistence tears. “That deserved some drinks. Sasha, Connie, your alcohol tab is on me tonight.”

Connie didn’t drink much, and neither did Sasha, but her reasons was simply because her budget didn’t allow her to indulge that habit. “Babe, I’m going to run your account absolutely _dry_.”

“It wouldn’t be a true Halloween if you didn’t.”

“Connie,” Bertolt called from the kitchen table where Annie was just getting up, costume completed. Combined with Bertolt’s own skeleton face, the two were a scarily adorable Nightmare Before Christmas. “Come here and let me fix your arrow.”

Tapping his forehead, some of the paint wiped off and onto his fingers, unnoticed by him. “Aw, you’ve got your hands full, don’t worry about it. I’m good!”

“It looks fucking terrible, just let Bertl fix it,” Annie pressed, grabbing him by the front of his costume and setting him on a kitchen chair.

They still had a few more hours until the party so Sasha decided to do target practice in the house while Bertolt and Christa did the remaining zombie make up. She had successfully speared the rest of the fruit in the house but, when she placed the last banana on Connie’s newly painted head, Mikasa came over and yanked the bow and arrow from her hands and replaced it with a remote. “You can have this back when we get to the party,” she reprimanded.

“I know you’re supposed to be a mom, but that doesn’t mean you have to be _my_ mom,” Sasha pouted.

“That wasn’t mothering, that was trying to save Connie’s life,” Annie deadpanned. “Just watch TV.”

She swallowed a comment about how she hadn’t missed a shot yet and turned on the TV, leaving it on the news station. Much like the last two weeks, it was on a segment concerning the upcoming election for governor, which was due in less than a week: State Representative Hanji Zoe vs Incumbent Rod Reiss. They were currently covering the aftermath of some local charity event Rod Reiss and his family attended—he had a picture perfect wife and two sons that looked to be about their age.

While the coverage continued, Christa started washing some dishes a little more loudly.

“ _I understand that family is very important,”_ The governor spoke from the television, “ _I don’t know where I’d be without my lovely wife and two strong children. Which is why I’m always more than happy to do what I can to help out families in need; hopefully with my reelection, I can crack down on creating more affordable healthcare to get sick people better, faster. Wives shouldn’t be without husbands, brothers without sisters, and children without parents.”_

A plate shattered to the floor.

All heads turned to the kitchen where Christa was staring at the broken mess on the floor, her hair curtaining the features of her face. Ymir reached over and yanked the remote from Sasha’s hands, turning the television off. “Christa?” she called.

It was quiet for a beat before she finally lifted her head, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I’m getting fucking _wasted_ tonight.”

Instantly, Ymir cheered and launched into a speech about exceeding expectations or something like that. Sasha’s mind jumped to “problem avoidance” but really, she had no room to lecture Christa on the matter when she was planning to do just the same. Tonight, the lot of them could get away with drowning their problems in alcohol. Well, all of them except—

“Mikasa! Guess who’s been bumped up to designated driver?”

 

* * *

 

Walking up the party, Sasha realized it was much bigger than previous years: which was awesome. The yard was full of carved pumpkins, fake spider webs, and impressive scarecrows, as well as tables upon tables of alcohol—and that was just the front yard. Mikasa stuck close to Sasha as they meandered through the already large crowd to the front steps of the house—Ymir, Christa, and the rest of the gang had separated as soon as they reached the block.

“That’s right, this will be your first college party!” Sasha exclaimed as the pulled Mikasa out of the way of a drunken frat boy who was stumbling with his drink.

“Second college party,” Mikasa corrected quietly.

“Yeah?” she smirked, “How’d the first one turn out?”

“With unplanned teenage pregnancy.”

Sasha didn’t know if Mikasa was searching for a laugh with that one, but she couldn’t help it, she barked out a laugh anyway; Mikasa smiled in return.

“Well look on the bright side,” Sasha slung one arm around her companion as they walked into the frat house. “I doubt you’ll make the same mistake tonight.”

That earned an elbow to her gut just as one of the frat boys came tumbling down the stairs. Sasha recognized him immediately as the president—the two of them were on good terms, especially since the party two years ago where she pulled off quite the drunken feat of jumping off the roof and into the pool.

“Sasha!” He called as he jogged his way to them, “Or should I say, Katniss!”

He was dressed just like she remembered the last time she saw him, at the Catching Fire Premiere. “Man, that costume is too perfect for you. Nice to see you!” She slung an arm around Mikasa, and gestured to the boy. “Mikasa, Peeta Mellark. But around here he’s better known as President Thomas Wagner. Tom, my roommate, Mikasa.”

He nodded, greeting her with an exuberant high five. “Mikasa,” he said her name back a few times, trying it out. “Mikasa. Mick. The Mickster!” He laughed at his own bad nickname as his eyes drifted to her pregnant stomach. “Aw, sweet costume!” His hand went to touch her tummy, but Mikasa took a small step backwards.

Again, Sasha wasn’t fond of Mikasa’s costume once it was all said and done—the plastic baby head “crawling” out of her stomach looked rather disturbing. More so than she thought it would be. Oh well. “Ah, Tom, be careful, the bump’s the real deal.”

Thomas’ eyes widened a fraction. “Oh, seriously?” Mikasa nodded. “Congrats! Well, in that case, we should have enough water to go around, but if you’d like to play it on the safe side, there should be cases of bottled water and ginger ale in the big fridge out in the storage shed, out back?” He threw them a wink. “Hangover cures. Gotta keep stocked. You help yourself to as much as you’d like, Mickster. If you have any trouble, you come find me, I’ll take care of it.”

Though clearly not fond of that nickname, Mikasa managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“Well enjoy the party! But first,” he slapped a hand to Sasha’s shoulder, mindful of the bow and arrow strapped to her back. “I gotta see your archery skills out back. Before you get too drunk to know up from down.”

Sasha grinned. “Sure, I’ll meet you back there in a few minutes.”

Figuring she could still impress a bunch of drunk boys with only having one drink, Sasha began staking out where they had all the beer—or better yet, vodka. “I’m going to go get a drink do you—“ but she stopped when she’d realized she had already lost Mikasa to Armin and Jean, talking in a corner with a couple of people.

Meandering through the place, Sasha eventually found the stash of beer and was pleased to find that they had more than just shitty Bud Lite to drink. Popping the cap of a Redd’s she chugged a few good sips before she headed out back.

Connie was instantly recognizable with his blue arrow that sort of glowed in the night air. Thomas’ blonde hair was a bit of a beacon as well and he waved her over, gathering a small crowd in the process.

“Katniss Everdeen you have chosen your weapon, now to choose your target.” Thomas announced, but he was already moving a scarecrow up against a tree.

Sasha kissed her hand and held three fingers up in the air, and those familiar with the series did the same. The action drew some more people to the spectacle, if her giant bow and arrow didn’t already. Thomas cleared the way and she drew her arrow, steadying herself—the beer hadn’t hit her yet, only made her feel slightly warm in the chill of the night.

“Right between the badly made eyes,” Connie requested.

She nodded before glancing behind her—she had plenty of room. “Want me to back up?”

“Can you make it from back there?” Someone asked.

“Of course.”

“Then as far as you can go.”

Sasha walked back another good twenty feet before she redrew the arrow and aimed for right between the eyes; from her new spot, it was hard to tell just where those eyes were, but it wasn’t impossible. She took her time, waiting for the air to steady (a difficult task in the autumn breeze) but eventually she felt confident enough and let the arrow fly.

It hit directly between the eyes, as promised, and the crowd cheered.

It probably took longer for her to make the shot than Katniss would have taken, but hey, at least she didn’t miss. She drew another bow. “Now where?”

“Shut that fucker up!” some frat boy shouted, and a few laughed, her included. Right in the scary mouth it was.

Again, she repeated the process and when the arrow flew, it hit directly in the center of the mouth, and the crowd erupted in more awe and cheer—she heard a great deal of it from Connie.

“One last one!” Sasha announced, drawing her last arrow—she only brought three. “Where to?”

“Right in the heart!” Thomas requested, and Sasha’s eye drifted to its lopsided abdomen, a puffy and much larger target than the last two. Simply the easiest target yet.

But when she drew her bow and arrow, something weird happened.

It could have been attributed to a lot—overstimulation due to being hyped on caffeine all week from exams, a chill from the cold weather, unpracticed grip on her bow, or simply being human—but it still freaked her out when her arm twitched for no reason and she dropped the arrow clean, leaving her to stare at empty space and the shaking of her own fingers.

The thing was she couldn’t remember that happening until now.

Most of the audience watching her tuned out after she dropped the arrow, their attention spans just as drunk as the rest of them. She bent down to pick up the arrow, still contemplating on giving it another try or whether to ditch the whole effort and go get a drink or five, when Connie reached down ahead of her and grabbed it.

“You okay?” he asked, the lines of his forehead upsetting the paint of his arrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Which, I guess, is practical seeing as it is Halloween, but…” he trailed off, staring at her shaking hands, which she suddenly clasped behind her back. “Sasha, you’re really pale. Do you feel alright?”

It was uncalled for, but she snapped, grabbing the arrow in Connie’s hand—the point dug into the heel of her palm. “I’m fine!” she barked, yanking the arrow away. “It’s fine,” she tried again, much softer, when she realized her outburst turned two or three heads among a sea of fifty.

“Everyone drops things,” he told her, which caused her whole body to tense. His tone was knowing and gentle, which was impossible because Connie’s didn’t know a damn thing about her potential, inevitable doom of losing control of her entire body. “Try again?”

Sasha still felt her hands shaking; there was no way she’d make a halfway decent shot anymore. Slinging the bow on one shoulder, she pushed past Connie and back towards the house. “No. I’m going to get a drink.”

Or, you know, ten. Whatever.

Connie didn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

Sasha had forgotten how much she had loved drinking with strangers.

She was quite the theatrical drunk—her words never too slurred or movements too sloppy, Sasha could pull off being sober when insanely drunk pretty well. The only thing that had a habit of deteriorating was the filter that ran from her brain to her mouth—it’s what led to great stories and juicy secrets, be it hers or others. Drinking with friends was always a good time (Mina had jumped the frat roof with her those years ago) but drinking with strangers was better because she could tell them anything and it didn’t really matter much. A live in the moment kind of deal.

After finding some dude named Marcel and a bunch of his friends, Sasha managed to win a drinking game which subsequently led to her chugging 5 shots of tequila. A stupid feat she hadn’t really pulled off since freshman year, but she figured her tolerance could at least keep alcohol poisoning at bay if she stuck to just beer after that.

Except occasionally the beer tasted awfully like vodka a lot of the time and a few hours later she was the most drunk she’d been in years.

Marcel and his gang were only entertaining for so long and eventually Sasha got bored enough to wander off on her own in hopes of finding Mikasa to get a sober evaluation of her drunkenness. But before she ran into any of her roommates, she ran into a cop instead.

Well, sorta.

By some miracle Sasha had managed to choke down a “SCATTER” while her hazy mind caught up that the man in front of her wasn’t an actual police officer, but simply a boy dressed as one. “Eren?”

Eren laughed and put his hands on her shoulders, which led to her wondering if she was, like, swaying or some shit. “Hey, Sasha.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” she squealed, high-pitched enough to make Eren wince as her fingers slipped into the belt loops on his pants. “You came dressed as a fucking _stripper_!”

That turned quite a few heads, but it wasn’t enough to put the party at a standstill—Flo Rida was rapping too loudly in the background. Eren blushed madly at the accusation and worked on removing Sasha’s fingers which were playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“No!” he hissed, pushing her away firmly, but not roughly. “I’m not a stripper. I’m just dressed as an officer for Halloween. It’s a costume, get it? I thought it’d be a good idea since I told you about the Police Academy and…whatever. Shit, where’d you even get that idea?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re _literally_ wearing a stripper’s outfit. You have tear-away pants!”

Eren looked absolutely scandalized. “No! I picked this up at a costume store!”

“Dude, cop costumes _are_ stripper costumes! Fuck, haven’t you seen Magic Mike?”

“Why would I see that movie?” To prove her point, she went in to try and find the point where his pants ripped away, hands dangerously close to his crotch when he suddenly grabbed her hands and moved them back to her side. As he leaned into her, he got a whiff of her breath. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough to fill a bathtub!” Sasha announced proudly. It was a total lie. Maybe. How much did she have?

He cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? Are you okay? Do you need a ride or something to get home? I haven’t had a drink, I promise. I told you I don’t dri—“

Rolling her eyes, she shoved him, missing the center of his arm and barely getting him by his elbow. “You need to relax! This is a party. Ugh, you sound just like my DD.” She paused, looking around, “You two would probably really get along. I’d introduce you, if I can find her.”

Eren chuckled. “It’s kinda hard to find people in this mess.”

Sputtering, Sasha whipped her head back and forth. “Oh, no. You don’t understand. She’s pregnant. S’like looking for a blue whale in the Pacific Ocean.” Quite the horrific analogy, but she was too drunk to notice (no filter). “Don’t tell her I called her a whale.”

“Calling a pregnant woman a whale wasn’t exactly on the top of my list of things to do,” he deadpanned and in Sasha’s drunken mind, that sounded just like Mikasa’s overly dry, Saharan like humor.

“There it is again! You’re like crazy alike!” Sasha exclaimed, mildly disappointed he wasn’t just as impressed as she was. “Now, where in the hell is—“

“Have you seen Mikky?”

Sasha and Eren turned their heads to find Armin tugging at her sleeve. “She ran off a few minutes ago, she didn’t look too good,” Armin continued, expression concerned. “I can’t find her.”

Even though Sasha was drunk enough to agree to jumping the roof into the pool again if asked, she wasn’t drunk enough to ignore the fact that Mikasa being sick was a very, _very_ bad thing. “She didn’t drink anything, did she?”

Armin shook his head. “No, she just…freaked out,” he whimpered. “Can you help me find her?”

“’course.”

“Who?” Eren asked as Armin headed off to the front yard in his continued search.

“The whale,” Sasha mumbled, craning her head in a lazy attempt to scan the room—she didn’t see her anywhere.

“Mickey like the mouse?” he chuckled again. “Or Mickey like ‘Oh-so-fine-she’ll-blow-my-mind’?”

For a split second, Sasha decided it would have been way cuter if they had nixed the zombie thing and just put her in a dotted dress and mouse ears. Ignoring his rare, decent joke, Sasha waved him off. “I really need to find her, it’s important.”

Eren shrugged. “Maybe she went upstairs or something? She’s probably looking for some privacy.”

Proud of her drunken mind, she remembered what Thomas had said about the back storage shed with the bottles of water. “You’re probably right. Hey, I’ll meet up with you later, okay?”

Skepticism. “You sure you don’t want me to help?”

Mikasa probably wouldn’t like some stranger fussing over her. “Nah, I got it.”

Spinning on her heel, she met the living room’s wooden entertainment center face first.

“Shut up,” she snarled before Eren got a chance to say anything. But when she glanced back his way she saw he wasn’t laughing at her stumble but giving her that… pitying look, the same look she got whenever her father was drunk on the streets begging for change.

Fuck, she must have been _really_ drunk.

Somehow in her trek to the back room a bottle of whiskey had found its way in her hands. If she was already halfway to Shitsville, might as well go all the way. After a finishing the handle (there wasn’t that much, she reasoned) she tossed it in the already trashed yard and made her way back to the storage shed.

There wasn’t really anyone around, but Sasha tried to be quiet anyhow. “Mikasa!” She whispered, although to be fair, it wasn’t all that quiet. She went for Armin’s nickname. “Mikky?” she tapped around on the shed doors. “Here girl!” she chirped, slapping her hands on her thighs as if she were calling a dog. A couple whistles later and she was calling her name again, “Mikky! Come on out girl don’t be—ACK.”

Katniss Everdeen was taken down by a pregnant whale via hard braid tug.

The doors of the shed were opened and closed so quickly Sasha considered teleportation as a possibility for the phenomenon. When she announced said drunken opinion aloud, she was thunked hard on the back of the head.

“Where are the lights?” Sasha mumbled, blindly reaching up for one of those pull string light do-hickies that sheds have and shit.

“Keep it down,” Mikasa hissed, swatting her hand away. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m in here.”

“Literally no one knows we’re here. If we died, it’d be two weeks before anyone found our bodies.” She had found the overhead light and pulled the string, lighting a dim bulb to illuminate the cramped space; they were surrounded by bottles of water and ginger ale, just as Thomas had promised. She plucked one bottle of water and took a swig—the first sip of water she’d had all night.

Mikasa reached up and yanked the light back off. “You’re piss drunk, aren’t you.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. But don’t worry, I’m a pretty awesome drunk. Not much changes. Except the fact that I kind of just say everything that’s on my mind. Like, I know I do that anyways but now I _super_ do it. I think I’m doing it right now. Also why are we in here? Why are _you_ in here?”

“I needed water.”

“Armin said you looked freaked out. Are you freaked out?”

“No, I’m not freaked out.”

“Why are you freaked out?”

“I just said—“

“I know what you said. I decided you’re probably lying. So. Why’d you get freaked out?”

“…Um.”

“Wow. So poetic. Like shit right out of Frida Khalo’s diary.”

“She was a painter.”

“I’m sure she wrote shit too. Letters and whatever. Why’d you get freaked out?”

“…I saw someone.”

“Oh. _Oh._ I get it. Well, look, it’s not real. They’re just _costumes_ they’re not going to jump out of your closet and scare you or—ow, ow, that’s my braid.”

“This was….a really scary costume.”

“I don’t think anything beats what you’re wearing.”

“I saw Paulie Bleeker.”

“…Well. Michael Cera isn’t _scary_ he’s fucking _ridiculous_. He’s like a bumbling baby giraffe. Especially in those yellow gym shorts.”

“No…. _my_ Paulie Bleeker….”

“….”

“….”

“ _whaaaaaaaaaat.”_

“Please keep it down.”

“Holy _shiiiiiiiiiit_.”

“Hush.”

“Wow.”

“….”

“Are you sure? Are you sure it was him.”

“Yes.”

“Did you guys talk?”

“No. I just saw him and kinda…bailed out before he saw me.”

“Where is he.”

“Sasha.”

“Do you want me to beat him up?”

“No.”

“Because I’ll beat him the _fuck_ up. I dropped a handle of whiskey around somewhere. I’ll like…smash it over his head. Or something.”

“That won’t be necessary. Really. I just…don’t want him to see me. That’s all.”

“You know eventually you’re going to have to give a bit more of an explanation. But for now…..you locked yourself in the shed? I’ve got more alcohol than blood, but even I know that’s a bad idea.”

“I know it is. Hey…Sasha?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d really just like to go home. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Sasha reached back up and looked for the string that turned on the bulb. When the pale light returned, Sasha saw Mikasa’s face was a tell-all tale of nervousness and distress, which was of course, the exact opposite of what she needed. “We’ll get you out of here, darlin’, don’t ya worry,” she promised as she started reaching for a large pack of ginger ale beside her. “We’ll just take this and be on our way.”

“We’re not taking that,” Mikasa sighed, sounding all too much like a mother wrestling with a child on the decision of whether or not that box of cookies can stay in the grocery cart.

“Tom said to help yourself!” she reminded her.

“Yeah. Help _myself._ Not you.” But she opened the shed door for Sasha anyhow.

“Sasha? Mikasa!”

Mikasa looked absolutely _terrified,_ and that’s when the severity of the situation hit Sasha. She really, really did not want to find Paulie Bleeker at this party again. But luckily, it was only the master of all four elements. “Connie!” Sasha chuckled as he bounded over—in the hours passed since she last saw him, Bert’s handiwork and mostly been sweated off.  “Hey, we’re just about to leave.”

“Armin’s been looking everywhere for you, Mikasa, are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” Sasha answered, hoisting up the pack of ginger ale when it almost dropped to the ground. Moderately heavy and insanely bulky, Drunk Sasha was having a difficult time pulling of this heist.

Connie eyed her prize. “Um. Thirsty?”

She grinned. “Obviously not anymore. Got me some ginger ale.” But in that moment, her slick palms lost their grip and the ginger ale fell, hitting her right on the top of her foot.

“Go a little overboard on the drinking?” Connie asked, but there wasn’t any humor in it. It was that same stupid _pitying_ look she had gotten from Eren earlier. Jeez, just how pathetic of a drunk was she really?

“Would people stop asking me that? I’ve been drinking since I was like _twelve_ I know what the fuck I’m doing.

Finally, Connie allowed a bit of a smile. “Twelve, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sasha mumbled, her reply a loss between a whimper and a grunt as she re-balanced the bottles of ginger ale. “Dad bought beer before water, so that’s what I drank. But you know the stereotype, that’s what people living on the streets do. I don't really blame him.”

Then, Connie whispered, “You were homeless?”

Nah. Way too drunk to get into this with him right then. “Anyway!” Sasha chirped, dropping the ginger ale and taking only a few bottles; she handed them to Mikasa. “You go on ahead and get to the car. I’ll go fetch…”  God, too many names. “Whoever came to this party.”

“Annie, Ymir, Christ—“

“Yeah, yeah, text me the roll call,” Sasha mumbled, pushing her way back to the party. Connie grabbed her by her sleeve as she passed and whirled her around, the action making her queasy.

“Here, let me help you—“

“I’m _fine!_ I don’t need any more damn _help,” s_ he barked, reminiscent of her bow and arrow fiasco a few hours earlier. “I’ll find them. Just.” She sighed heavily through her nose. “Go walk Mikasa to the car and make sure other zombies don’t try to get with her or something.” and she left him behind.

Finding three particular girls in a sea of people when you’re blood alcohol level is probably the same number as your age is damn near impossible. But it helps when there’s a commotion because Tinkerbell is doing a keg stand.

Wait.

Wonder Woman and Superman were holding her legs as about 50 other people cheered Christa on in her alcoholic endeavors. Just when Sasha thought she’d be done, she kept _going—_ most likely in attempts to fill her entire intestinal system with shitty Bud Lite beer.

There was a joke about Kryptonite and Pixie Dust somewhere in there, but she couldn’t fish it out.

After what felt like an hour but was probably more like 20 seconds, Ymir and Reiner hauled her off the keg and put her back on the ground; immediately she swayed—but not the knee wobbling, my-balance-kind-of-sucks way. Christa’s entire weight shifted back and it was like she was trust falling straight into Wastedville. But luckily Bertolt appeared out of nowhere and caught her like the ghost-like creature he was.

Annie wasn’t far behind, her face carrying the most expression Sasha had ever seen. “Christa, did you just do a goddamn keg stand?”

Ymir answered for her. “Hell yeah she did! It was awesome!”

Christa smiled weakly, but she was still looking worse for wear. “Oh God, she’s fucking _wrecked,”_ Sasha murmured, only loud enough for Annie to hear, who nodded in sympathy. “Ymir, why didn’t you talk her out of it?” Sasha demanded, trying to help Christa stand on her two feet.

She scoffed. “You’ve no room to talk, Sasha. You’re drunk as hell.”

“Well, okay, _yeah,_ but I can hold my liquor. _You_ can hold your liquor. Christa…” she sighed, lifting her up again when she started to drift off. “Her definition of wasted is like, three cosmopolitans.”

“Ooh. Big word for a drunk.”

Annie, the most sober out of all of them, intervened. “That’s enough,” she growled. While she hadn’t ever witnessed a Sasha & Ymir Drunk Brawl, it seemed she was aware of the legacy. “It’s about time we left anyway. Before Christa decides to do something else stupid.”

“Oh come on!” Ymir laughed. “She’s about to pass out anyway. What’s left for her to do?”

“WHO WANTS ME TO JUMP OFF THE ROOF?” and Christa’s declaration was met with a unanimous cheer.

Oh, buddy.

Now it was Ymir’s turn to be the more reasoning voice. “The keg was a brilliant idea. This one? Not so much, babe.”

Christa pouted. “Sasha’s done it! They told me,” _hiccup_ “So! I wanna do it! My turn!”

“Sasha’s dumb as hell,” Annie supplied.

Ah, she’d let it slide this time. “Yeah! I’m dumb as hell! Dude, that cannonball fuckin’ hurt, it’s not worth it. And the water in the pool is nasty and green and _cold._ ”

“I have pixie dust to keep my warm!”

“Pixie dust doesn’t keep you warm, it makes you _fly,”_ Sasha corrected with an eye roll before Annie slapped her hand over her mouth, the action entirely too late.

Goddamn motherfucking filter.

“Fly! I can _fucking_ fly!” Christa hooted; wiggling out of everyone’s hold, she marched out the back door on to the porch where there were already three considerably taller frat boys (one of them Thomas himself) ready to help her climb the roof. A few other people peeled back the cover on their pool, the murky water obviously disgusting even if the light was poor. The flood lights turned on and the boys helped Christa climb up a deck table and then onto the slanted indoor porch roof. A fucking miracle, really.

On the roof, Christa was still swaying, and that made Sasha incredibly nervous. If she didn’t jump far enough, she’d crack her head on the concrete patio. She had to do _something_.

 “Wait!” Sasha called, grabbing a frat boy by the collar and gesturing for him to give her a lift. “Wait, Christa, I’m going to do it too.”

This was totally a good idea.

“WHOOOO! FUCK YEAH!”

“ _What!?”_ Annie screeched. She came forward and shoved anybody willing to help Sasha on to the roof out of the way. “Sasha, you’re almost as drunk as she is! You could really get hurt.”

“Um, hello? I’ve done this before.” Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, if I go up there, I can make sure she jumps far enough. Sprinkles enough Pixie Dust if you catch my drift.”

This was a _moderately_ good idea.

“No, you _can’t_. Listen to yourself. Your logic isn’t sound. This is dangerous.”

At the moment, she couldn’t really pinpoint where the anger came from: The Paulie Bleeker, Ymir’s irresponsibility, the tequila shots, who knew. But Sasha was drunk and anger came quickly and all she was trying to do was get everyone home in one piece and Annie wasn’t helping. “You have no right to be lecturing me on _dangerous_ ,” Sasha growled.

Annie’s eyes went wide before they narrowed. “Fine,” she spat, letting Sasha go and even giving her a shove towards the roof. “Go right on ahead.”

Sasha had a much easier time climbing up the roof than Christa—she really didn’t need much help, but she was thankful for the hand on her ass that steadied her when her right foot slipped (a statement she probably wouldn’t say again). When she stood on the shingles, she was almost instantly tackled by Christa in her over-excitement; instead, Sasha managed to grab her hand and interlock their fingers.

“We’re doing this shit? I can’t believe we’re doing this. Oh my god, this is fucking awesome!” Christa yelled again, and the party shouted back in vigor.

“Jeez, Tink, you should have been Hook you’re swearing like a sailor.” Sasha shouted, still clutching Christa’s hand in case of an early flight. Looking down into the backyard, Sasha decided she must have been much drunker the last time she did this, because that pool looked super far down. “Christa, are you sure you want to do this?”

“One!”

“Christa, Christa, _wait—“_

“Two!”

“I think this roof is higher—“

“Three!”

“ _Shit!”_

The jump was just how she remembered—a few seconds too long to be comfortable. She had lost Christa’s hand almost immediately into the jump before she was encased in a slimy, algae-infested pool. Sasha really wished she had remembered to close her mouth. Her teeth chattered and clanked together when she emerged and all she could think about was how _cold_ she was, so she didn’t realize the people at the party were  _screaming_ instead of cheering.

Christa had made it into the pool, but she wasn’t _moving._

“GET HER OUT!” Ymir shouted, running over to offer a hand. Sasha swam the few feet off the left and pulled Christa under her arm and used her other arm to pathetically swim over to the pool’s edge. Ymir and Annie helped Christa out of the pool and leaned her up a bit while Bertolt tried patting her on the back to see if she’d spurt up any water.

“Is she breathing?” Sasha asked, voice lost between a pant and a shout as she crawled out of the pool.

Ymir made some sort of whining noise as she felt for a pulse. “I _think_ so,” she whimpered. “Come on, wake up.”

Seconds later they were all met with the relieving sound of Christa coughing and spurting. She stuck both her shaky arms up in the air and let out a holler, and the entire party cheered with her.

“I fucking _flew!”_

“You idiot!” Ymir hissed, voice lost between crying and shouting. “You almost drowned. And you!” she smacked Sasha in the arm. “I thought you were going to talk her down off the roof!”

“ _Excuuuuuse_ me? You did nothing to help me stop her. Besides, she jumped before I could get a chance!”

“Do not start again!” Annie demanded just as the music got louder and the party resumed. She pulled Bertolt down and whispered something in his ear and he nodded, kissing her forehead, before he walked off. “We’re going home. All five of us. Now.”

When they managed to get to the car, they saw Mikasa dozing off in the driver’s seat, Connie nowhere to be found. Sasha rapped on the window and Mikasa jolted awake, starting the car and unlocking the doors. “There you are. I was starting to wonder where you guys—why are you two wet?”

“Walked the plank. Don’t want to talk about it.”

 

* * *

 

The drive back to the house was stunningly silent. Ymir had Christa’s head in her lap and Annie sat on the other end in the back, holding her legs and tapping nonsensical beats on her ankle bones. Sasha was forced to sit shot gun since Annie claimed she and Ymir might maim each other if they sat together. Which, wasn’t too far from the truth. But Sasha knew better than to start a fight in the car.

She waited until they got to the apartment.

“I can’t _believe_ you!” she screeched slamming the front door behind her. Annie took Christa and set her down on the couch before stalking off to the kitchen for some water. “Ymir, you almost _killed_ Christa.”

“I’m fine,” Christ mumbled desolately from the couch. It would seem the kegs immediate effects had worn off.

Ymir rolled her eyes. “She’s _drunk._ Like yourself. She’s just not as used to it as you and I are. Give her a go at a few more parties; she’ll get the hang of it.”

Mikasa, sensing a fight, looked for an out. “I’ll go get you guys some towels.” Suddenly, Christa rolled off the couch and onto the floor, mumbling something about “smelly” and “pay to dry clean that cushion”

Meanwhile, Sasha was _fuming._ She prided herself on not being an angry drunk, a _mean_ drunk, but today seemed to be an anomaly. “Fuck you, Ymir!” Very rarely had she ever said those words with such true malice. “Just because _you_ dropped out of college and became a sad drunk doesn’t mean you have to take Christa down with you!”

“At least I’m not so freaked out about seeing my dead mom in my roommate’s pregnancy that I become completely blind to everything around me!”

“ _Excuse me_?” Sasha screeched so loudly, she was positive the entire neighborhood heard her. And maybe also China.

Ymir didn’t relent. “You heard me. You’ve been freaked out ever since Mikasa got here, and even more freaked out ever since that fucking ultrasound. You think _I’ve_ got a problem? Take a good look at yourself!”

“Bullshit!” Sasha spat. “What the fuck do you know? You’re drunk every goddamn day, I’m surprised you can even keep our names straight!”

“That _tears_ it!” Annie suddenly screamed, causing Ymir and Sasha to come at a standstill. She came over and ripped the long lasso off Ymir’s hip and took a few steps back so she was surveying the entire room. In an impressive feat, Annie managed to twist Ymir’s arm behind her back and force her beside Sasha before she tied the two of them up on the floor.

This was unexpected.

“Why.” Sasha demanded, giving her the stink eye.

“Seriously,” Ymir grumbled in agreement. “Sasha’s wet. She smells like rotting…” she scrunched her nose, obviously struggling for a comparison. “…nature.”

Sasha snorted. “Good one,” she bit out sarcastically.

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Annie groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then, she walked a few steps over and yanked Christa off from where she had fallen on Mikasa’s lap. Her body was limp as she dragged her to where Ymir and Sasha were tied up in the middle and loosened the knots just enough to slip Christa in there, her head resting on Sasha’s right shoulder and Ymir’s left one.  “Mikasa, you too.”

“What.”

“Just….get over here.”

Sasha couldn’t _see_ Mikasa on account of being tied up and shit, but after a few hesitant seconds, Mikasa dragged her pregnant ass to join the rest of them, sitting on Sasha’s left. Again, Annie loosened the ropes (how long were these things?) and tied them in a way so they weren’t too tight before she took another seat on Mikasa’s other side to next to Ymir, making the five them in a little star, backs to one another, tied up on the floor.

Sasha could honestly say she’d never had a Halloween end up quite like this.

“Ummmm,” Sasha started, voice pitched higher than usual. “Annie? Why…did you tie us up with rope and put us on the floor like hostages?” She wiggled, not particularly happy with the way the ropes were resting in the creases of her elbows. “This doesn’t really go with my costume.”

“It’s not rope,” she corrected. “It’s the Lasso of Truth. And it’s going to settle shit, once and for all. No more lies. No more _fighting._ ”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Ymir groaned, throwing her head back—it knocked against Sasha’s skull. “I’m not doing this.” She paused. “In fact, I don’t have to. You can’t use the Lasso of Truth on Wonder Woman. So hah.”

“Actually, there was a mini-comic that DC published where an evil Soviet reincarnation of Batman subdued her by her own lasso. So hah right back,” Annie corrected.

“Fucking _nerd.”_

“Look,” Annie sighed. “It seems I’m the only honest one in the room as of right now.”

Was she seriously serious? “You’re a _secret underground fighter_!” Sasha screeched in retaliation.

“But _you guys_ know about it. I’ve got nothing else to hide.”

“I highly doubt that,” Mikasa mumbled. “Everyone’s always hiding something.”

“Well, not when they’re tied with Diana’s lasso. We’re sorting all our shit out right now, while we’re still somewhat drunk.”

“Except me,” Mikasa lamented bitterly and Sasha couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded so pathetic.

“Yeah, well…tough. Sorry. But it’s all out on the table, right now. Who’s first?”

Sasha laughed bitterly. There was no way she was doing this girly heart-to-heart. Not when she was this drunk. She might actually…talk. And there was no way she would let this horrible Lasso of Truth metaphor fall into place and have them find out everything. “Yeah,” she elongated the word before clicking her tongue. “I’m not doing this.”

“Same,” Mikasa answered immediately.

“Ditto.” Ymir groused. “I’m sure Historia agrees.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Historia agrees, right?” 

Wait….

“…Who’s Historia?” Mikasa asked.

Sasha could feel Ymir’s posture stiffen. “Shit.”

“Ymir!” Christa whined, finally speaking.

“Sorry?”

There was a long pause, followed by a deep sigh from Christa. “Me. I’m Historia. Historia…. Reiss.”

Sasha kinda wished they weren’t tied up back to back because someone needed to see the face she had made: a gross combination of disgust and humor. Her laugh was ugly, a snorting sound. “Wow. What a terrible ass name.  History Reiss.”

“No, Historia,” Ymir corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

“You said _History_.”

This was so confusing. “….Is that not what it is?”

“ _Historia_.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Well, excuse the shit out of me for not knowing Italian.”

Mikasa laughed while Annie sighed. “Unbelievable,” Ymir muttered.

“Wait a minute,” Annie blurted, and Sasha could feel the ropes chaffing as she wiggled around. “Did you say Reiss?”

“Yup,” Christa confirmed, her lips popping at the end of the word.

“Like….Governor Reiss?”

“Yuuup.”

“Are you guys related?” Mikasa asked.

“Yuuuuuup.” Sasha felt Christa’s head lolling around for a second. “He’s my dad,” she admitted, and that’s when Sasha heard the sniffling.

“Holy _shit.”_

_“What?”_

“Seriously?”

“I knew it.”

Sasha couldn’t smack Ymir, so she made do with throwing her head back with intent on hitting Ymir’s with great force—it worked, but she accidentally knocked Mikasa’s head a bit too. Oops. “You didn’t know anything—oh wait, yes you did. Yeah. Wait!” Sasha pouted. “Why did _Ymir_ get to know? Why didn’t you tell _us_ about your secret politician daddy?”

“I didn’t tell her, she figured it out,” Christa sobbed.

“How? She’s not exactly Sherlock. Didn’t you hear? She dropped out of college—OW!” Sasha was cut off when Ymir managed to twist her arm around Christa and tug hard on her braid. The bitch.

“She looked in my wallet, saw my full name. Right? That’s how you figured it out.” She sighed, and Sasha felt an absence of weight as Christa leaned more heavily on Ymir. “I just can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone for this long.”

“Well,” Ymir huffed. “I was trying to get you to admit to it. I didn’t mean to spill the beans.”

“Why’d you want me to admit to it?”

“I don’t think you should hide who you are.”

A cold laugh from Christa. “I get paid to hide who I am. My entire existence is…denying my existence, really,” her voice trailed off, quiet from her own confusion. “Rod Reiss didn’t want his wife to know he knocked up some prostitute. Would have ruined his whole “family image” when he gave up the business life for politics.”

“That’s his problem, not yours,” Ymir complained. “You shouldn’t have to live your life in secret.”

“You don’t _get_ it,” Christa whined, words slightly slurred and run together. “I’m not s’pose to be alive. He _paid_ my mom to get an _abortion_ , but she didn’t. She only kept me because it would mean more money down the line. She was right.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason,” Mikasa offered after a small silence.

“No it is,” she said lightly, as if admitting that your mother not wanting you isn’t a terrible thing to admit. “My mother hated me so much she flat out _ignored_ me. If it wasn’t for the housekeeper, I’d….probably be dead by now, honestly.”

“I don’t get it,” Sasha said, and Christa tilted her head to rest back on Sasha, and she took it as notice that she was paying attention. “Why don’t you just….tell everyone you’re a Reiss? Who cares if your mom loses a paycheck?”

Christa smiled into her shoulder. “I’d lose a paycheck, too, you know. And while I love wasting some of his money, I also use it for good. I’ve set aside a bunch for a bunch of baby stuff and Mikasa’s future hospital bills. I don’t want to lose that.”

“I’d manage,” Mikasa said quietly. “You shouldn’t sacrifice such things for my sake.”

“But I _want_ to.”

“I know. And for that, I’m grateful. But I’d manage. We can all manage.”

“You should think about it,” Ymir offered, her voice the softest it’d been all night. “Don’t worry about supporting Mikasa. Me, Annie and Sasha are all going to help.”

“And maybe even Paulie Bleeker,” Sasha piqued in, squirming a bit in her hold.

“….Paulie…Oh, the dude from Juno. Wait. Mikasa’s talking to her baby-daddy?” Ymir gasped.

“Yes!” Sasha blurted out at the same time Mikasa said, “No!” Talk about Deja-vu. “Okay, well, she almost talked to him,” Sasha admitted. “At the party.  She saw him at the party.”

“Did you beat him up?” Annie growled.

“Tried. Mikky wouldn’t let me.”

“I would have done it anyway.” Annie barked back. “He deserves it.”

“….Does he?” Christa whispered. “Mikasa hasn’t…really told us what happened.”

“Yeah!” Sasha whined. She kicked her legs and almost fell over, if it weren’t for Annie’s well tied knots. She was starting to wonder if she was actually Wonder Woman in disguise. “Mikasa, I think we’ve been patient enough. Me especially. What happened? Why were you homeless? Did you run away? Were you kicked out? Did you— _stop tugging on my fucking braid.”_

“Give her a chance to answer,” Ymir grumbled.

The silence was painful, but eventually Mikasa sat straight, trying to relax. “For starters, I wasn’t kicked out. I ran away.”

“Did you not feel safe with your parents?” Sasha asked, forgetting Ymir’s recent scolding; for that she got another braid tug. She was going to go bald after tonight.

“I don’t have parents. Mine died years ago.”

That….was not what Sasha was expecting to hear. “Oh.”

“It was years ago. Ten, in fact. I’ve been in foster care.”

“How’d they die?” Annie asked.

The monotony of her voice was disheartening. “Someone broke into our home and shot them.”

“…Oh my _God.”_

“Holy _fucking_ shit.”

“Were you there?”

Mikasa whimpered, voice barely there. “Yeah…I was there.”

Sasha wiggled around. “Oh my god. I need to hug you. You need a hug. Annie let me go so I can hug her.”

“Sshhh,” Annie hushed.

“It happened when I was eight,” Mikasa continued, “By then, I only had one friend. Uh, ‘Paulie Bleeker.’ And that was because his parents were friends with my parents. But after my parents died and I had nowhere to go, his family took me in. I lived with them for a few days before the system assigned me a home. But my friend…”

Sasha hadn’t heard Mikasa speak so…richly. Her voice had this quality to it that made every word seem like a careful choice, a precision stroke of a brush. She was speaking paintings, masterpieces. “Those first few days were so tough. But he was my rock. He helped me…more than he’ll probably ever know. But as soon as I got there, I turned around and left.”

“Did you move far?” Christa asked softly.

“Yes and no. I was still in the state, but it was too far for us to visit. We wrote letters. Emails. But then, when I was 16, I got a letter saying that his parents had finally applied to be foster parents. He asked me to come live with them until high school was over. So I did.”

“This sounds awfully like a shitty Lifetime movie,” Ymir grumbled, and Sasha was pretty sure she heard Christa bite Ymir’s arm.

Mikasa ignored the comment. “I finished high school. Did pretty well. I was really happy there. The happiest I’d ever been since my parents died. But then….”

“Oh my god,” Ymir whispered, voice caught between a laugh and gasp. “You fucked your foster brother, didn’t you.”

“ _YMIR_.”

“He’s not my brother,” Mikasa growled, defensive. “He was never my brother.”

“Okay, fine. But he is your friend. The friend you lived with. The friend who knocked you up.”

“….Yeah.”

“I take back the shitty Lifetime comment. This would make an awesome movie. I hope to be cast as me when it’s made in the future.”

“You wouldn’t be in it,” Annie reminded her.

“Um. I’m here now. I’d so be in it. Future flashbacks.”

“I’m still kinda drunk,” Sasha admitted, “But I do know if it’s the future, you can’t call it a flash _back_ ,”

“Well, flashforward isn’t a word.”

“No…I _think_ it is,” Christa squeaked.  “But wouldn’t it be told in the future, and then had flashbacks to screwing the foster brother?”

“ _Friend_ ,” Mikasa corrected sternly. “And the drunken lot of you has struck a tangent.”

“Right, sorry. So,” Sasha leaned back, hoping that this time a miracle would happen and Ymir’s skull would make a better headrest. Nope. Still uncomfortable. “You fucked the foster… _friend,_ and then you…found out you were pregnant and ran away?”

“Pretty much.”

“Not to state the obvious, but…why didn’t you try telling him?” Sasha asked.

It seemed like an easy enough question to Sasha, but Mikasa didn’t answer for a really long time. Just what did this boy mean to her? “I couldn’t bear the thought of him resenting me.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t resent you,” Annie said, a tone that made Sasha think she was rolling her eyes.

“Unless unprotected sex was _your_ idea.”

Annie groaned, almost embarrassed. “Okay. I know this is the Lasso of Truth, but Ymir, I’m giving you full permission to be a little less truthful.”

“Sorry.”

“If he hated me,” Sasha felt the wisps of Mikasa’s hair as she shook her head back and forth. “I’d rather raise this baby without him ever knowing than have him reject it.”

Sasha leaned her head down on Mikasa’s shoulder and looked up at her—she saw the corner of her eye. “Look, I’ve never met this Paulie Bleeker kid, but from what you’ve already told us? He doesn’t…sound like the abandoning type. I mean….he and his family got you back, right?”

“It’s not the same.” Mikasa argued.

“It’s kinda the same,” Annie murmured.

“Yeah, I agree.”

“Consider talking to him?” Sasha mumbled, turning her head and rubbing her nose into Mikasa’s shoulder.

Mikasa _almost_ whined. “I don’t know…”

“I think you’ll regret not trying,” Ymir told her. “If it goes sour, yeah, that sucks, but you’ll recover. You’ve got us.”

Ymir had a habit of saying _awesomely_ inspiring things and giving completely relevant advice. The problem was, she rarely followed her own word. “I reaaaaallly don’t think you should be lecturing people on not trying.” Sasha complained.

“Oh my _god,”_ Ymir moaned. “Not this shit again.”

“Is this about the college thing?” Christa asked.

“Look,” Ymir cut in, “I _tried_ college. I tried the whole med school track, and that went sour. _Then_ I tried the whole goddamn lawyer track like Elle Woods over here,” she knocked her knee with Christa’s. “It was hard. I wasn’t cut out for the college life. Not everyone is. That’s just how life works sometimes, okay? Let it go.”

“Not everyone drops out to become an _alcoholic,”_ and for the first time Sasha could remember, Ymir did not fight that identifier.

“That’s just how life works sometimes, okay?” she repeated, this time much more defeated.

Luckily, Christa managed to find some decent advice within her intoxicated mind. “Maybe…you weren’t studying the right thing? Did you like those things?”

“No,” Ymir sighed, sinking down, her head now level with the back of Sasha’s neck. “I hated them. But growing up, it’s all my mom and dad talked about. Law school. Med school. Scientist this. Doctor that. I wanted to make them proud. I love them so much. But…I’m not those things.” She groaned. “I mean, it’s fine, I like who I am. It’s just sometimes…I don’t even _know_ who I am.”

“You’re 24. You have time to figure that stuff out.” Mikasa reminded her.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what everyone says. Doesn’t make limbo land any easier.” A long, drawn out pause. “Limbo land is dangerous,” she whispered. “You spend so much time looking at a catalogue of who you think you’ll want to be that you spend too much time being…empty. Full of nothing.” A bitter laugh. “So I filled my nothing up with booze, I guess. Pathetic, huh?”

“You are not pathetic, don’t you even think that.” Christa hissed. “You’re just a little lost.”

Maybe Ymir had a point when she said Sasha had been too blinded with Mikasa’s pregnancy and all her other personal problems that she couldn’t see her other friends’ issues. “It’s okay, Ymir,” Sasha cooed, as if she were talking to a frightened child. Ymir didn’t taunt back, which made Sasha’s heart sink like the Titanic. “I’ll take you to shitty art galleries and stupid concerts. We’ll check out a million books in the library and read until we find something you like. Whatever it takes. We’ll get that spark back in your heart, don’t worry.”

“We’ll all help,” Mikasa promised, just as Christa reached over and squeezed Ymir’s hand.

“Okay, now _this_ is for sure the shitty Lifetime movie,” Ymir joked, but Sasha heard the tenderness in her voice.

“Are you crying?” Sasha squealed. “Did I just make your heart grow three times its size?”

“Save the Grinch jokes for Christmas, you little shit.”

This time the silence wasn’t so awkward. Sasha felt…warm; and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Well, I’ll be damned. Annie, you’re little truth session was a success.”

“Whoa-ho-ho-ho,” Ymir tutted. “Nu-uh. We’re not done. If I had to get all mushy with everyone, you definitely owe the group a few girly tears.”

Sasha really didn’t want a sob fest on her behalf. Maybe she could still weasel her way out of this. “Well, shit Ymir, just what do you think I’m hiding?”

“You know what you’re hiding,” she said quietly. “I think you owe everyone an explanation. Particularly Mikasa.”

“Is this about the dead mom comment?” Annie asked flatly, but Sasha could still sense the curiosity in her tone.

“Jesus, don’t say it like that,” Sasha complained, squirming.

“Sorry.”

 The quiet came back and Sasha _knew_ they were going to make her do this. She was truly going to have to say this. “Ymir, I don’t want to freak Mikasa out.” A last ditch effort.

“She won’t freak out.”

“I won’t freak out,” Mikasa promised as well, nudging her in the shoulder gently. “Just tell me. I’d like to know. You really worry me sometimes.”

“Sorry,” Sasha apologized quietly. “I didn’t mean to. In fact I was trying to make you feel more at ease but I guess…I didn’t hide my panic well enough huh?” she chuckled awkwardly. “Well, let’s see. What’s to add? My mom’s dead. She died when I was just a baby.”

“How did she die?” Annie pressed.

“….Hemorrhaging. From childbirth.”

Mikasa didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

She tried to make everything feel more at ease. “I know that every year maternity death decreases and all that. It really doesn’t happen as much as it used to. Modern medicine and all. But I guess I just get nervous, you know? I don’t want anything to happen to you. Or your baby.”

“Well,” Ymir quipped, “That was a little more depressing than I had imagined.”

“What did you expect? I’m talking about my _dead mom.”_

“Okay, okay,” Christa placated, some of her sober self shining through. “Well, look on the bright side. You still had your dad, right?”

For a brief moment, Sasha smiled. The first few years of her life that she could remember were wonderful. Her dad was her entire world. “Yeah. My dad was awesome. We lived on this real small farm on the other side of the state, right outside of Sina. We had a few crops, a few chickens and goats. It was just so much fun. My dad was my best friend. He taught me to fish, he taught me to hunt. He taunt me everything. He did everything my mom would have done and more. But…” Her smile fell.

Her roommates waited.

“When I was a teenager, he started getting sick. Not the flu or some virus. It was…his brain. He got so moody. Forgetful. Lord, he forgot everything. Forgot to buy groceries, tend to the crops, go to work. He lost his job. We lost our farm. We lost everything. And then…we were in the city, on the streets. For a long time, it was just like the movies. Park benches. Highway overpasses. Showering in public restrooms.”

“What was wrong with him? Didn’t he go to the doctor?”

Sasha swallowed nervously. She couldn’t tell them what was wrong with her dad without spilling the guts about her possible Huntington’s; and no Lasso of Truth was going to make her talk about that tonight. “I don’t know. But one day, the summer before I was supposed to start high school my dad….left. And he never came back.”

Christa’s voice was heartbreaking. “He just left you? You have no idea where he is?”

“…Yeah, he just left. I still don't know where he is."

A lie.

“So, you’ve been on your own all this time?”

“For a while, yeah. But it wasn’t so bad. I went to high school, which took up most of my time.”

“Where did you live?” Mikasa asked.

Sasha barked out a laugh. “In the school! I slept in the break room and showered using the gym showers. I cut a deal with the janitor. Her name was Rico. Rad girl. She kept my secret as long as I did well. Signed all my paperwork. Tricked the school into thinking I still lived with my dad. So I worked hard and got good grades. Top 10 in my class. Not because I was smart, but because I worked _hard._ And then, right before I graduated, I met my grandfather.”’

That wasn’t a detail Ymir had ever heard. It wasn’t a detail anyone had heard. “Your grandfather? I never knew you found him.”

Sasha shrugged. “Well. My dad had cut all contact off with our relatives when he started getting sick, so no one knew where I was. But somehow, Pixis found me. Don’t know how, but he did. Miracle worker, that man.”

“Did you move in with him?”

“Yep! Finished my last semester with him. Got a scholarship to this university. What wasn’t covered, he helped pay for what he could. He’s awesome. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Beside her, Christa wiggled. She could hear her pouting. “So you won’t take my money, but you had no problem taking _his_ money.” She grumbled.

“That’s because he’s my grandfather, Tinkerbell. It’s a little different.”

“Who are you calling Tinkerbell?”

“You!” Ymir laughed. “You’re dressed as Tinkerbell.”

“Oh. Oh, right. I’m still kinda out of it.”

“That would be the keg talking.”

“I know. It’s talking right now. Telling me I have to pee. Annie, can you untie us now?”

At the mention of peeing, Sasha realized how badly she needed to go as well. “Yeah, I need to go too.”

“Same.”

“I’m pregnant, I have to pee all the time.”

Annie sighed, one that came more from weariness than frustration. “Yeah, sure. I just…have to…reach. Um. Shit.”

“ _No_.”

“Please tell me you can untie us.” Sasha begged. “Please.”

“Jesus, relax. We’ll get untied.” But as Annie struggled more and more, Sasha and the other girls were starting to have their doubts. “…Eventually.”

“We’re going to die.”

“This is how it ends. Full of pee.”

“Annie, I hate you.”

“Relax,” Annie repeated, voice pitched higher in nervousness. “I told Bertl to come around in a bit. He’ll help us out.”

“…Define _a little bit_.”

A terrible, terrible pause.

“Okay. _Maybe_ we should start looking for a pocket knife.”

They groaned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH. So sorry this took so long :3 I was trying to find a humorous way to get them all to sit down and talk and then I realized Ymir was wearing a lasso of truth! How perfect hah! Well, I hope you found it worth the two week wait. It's twice as long, so that makes up for it, right? I've read through it like 5 times I don't think there are any glaring grammatical errors, but I'm sure I missed a few. Next chapter focuses on election day!


	10. watergate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fucking equivalent to Watergate. Or at least the Lewinsky scandal. Whatever.

November 1st

“Look who’s awake.”

Sasha felt like her brain was about to ooze out of her ears and if her eyes even saw a _photon_ of light, she would be blinded for the rest of her life, which is exactly why when she tried to get up and get coffee for her hangover, she kinda wimped out halfway there and collapsed at the kitchen table, burying her face in her arms.

Due to the fact that her breath probably smelled like nuclear waste, she went with a grunt that roughly translated into: “shut up.”

She felt sinewy fingers raking through her rat nest of hair. “This is pretty funny,” Mikasa hummed before she set a cup of steaming coffee on the table. She grabbed Sasha by what was left of her braid and forced her to sit up. “Drink,” she demanded lightly. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

Sasha gurgled a bit before she found her scratchy, ugly voice. “Thanks, Mom.”

 “ _Not_ your mother,” Mikasa chided with a sigh, but she started making scrambled eggs anyway.

“Well, as you learned last night, the position is certainly open.” Mikasa whirled around and frowned. “Don’t look at me like that,” Sasha sighed, rubbing at her aching temples. “It’s just a joke.”

Mikasa’s gaze lingered for a few more moments before she spun back around. “You’re giving your mother a headache,” she complained, and despite it all, Sasha grinned.

At the smell of (kinda burned) eggs, Annie and Ymir slowly emerged from their respective bedrooms with similar looks of agony and regret. Good. Sasha wouldn’t settle for being the only tortured soul that morning.

“I smell eggs,” Annie whined, and Sasha couldn’t tell if she was nauseated or excited.

Mikasa couldn’t either so she asked, “Would you like some?”

Ymir sneered, sniffing at the air. “Not if you’re going to burn them—ow ow ow,” she moaned when Annie elbowed her in the ribs. “That hurt.”

“I would, please,” Annie said with a sigh before she plopped beside Sasha and assumed a similar position—arms over head, trying to avoid the light. Ymir, while a little more experienced with the hangovers, was still suffering, but managed to fetch herself a coffee before sitting at the table, deliberately excluding Annie for the elbowed ribs.

But when Mikasa brought over three plates of eggs, she also brought along a cup of coffee made just the way Annie liked it. “You’re so nice,” Annie sighed again, and Sasha laughed. Last night really wore her out, and she was being a lot softer than usual. “Thanks, Momkasa.”

Then laughter.

Mikasa was normally the “silent-shoulder-shaking” laughing type but for some reason that Momkasa joke was just _too_ funny for her to ignore. She fucking _snorted,_ hands clasping over her mouth to try and muffle her ugly laughter.

It was adorable.

Annie’s blush stained her skin clear past her collarbone. “I’m so sorry,” she groaned, closing her eyes.

“Annie, you’re fantastic.” Ymir declared.

“Ymir, I can’t believe we never thought of that.”

“Momkasa. I’m so mad I didn’t think of it first.”

“Incredible. Annie, do you think—Omgfdgfdhfgd.”

Annie shoved a fork full of scrambled eggs into Sasha’s mouth.

When she managed to swallow, Sasha realized the kitchen was missing a certain little bell-like laughter. “Where’s Christa?” She paused, recalling their conversation. “Er, Historia?” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper.  “Do we call her that now or…?”

Her question went ignored. “Probably sleeping,” Annie said, mouth full of food. “She had more to drink than any of us.”

Ymir and Sasha made a simultaneous hiss of uncertainty.

“Okay,” Annie remedied, eyes rolling, “But she still had a lot. To be honest, I’m surprised she’s not _dead.”_

“Save the dramatics for the cage fights,” Ymir told her. “Though I do know what you mean. We should probably have…two, three…. _ten_ Advil on standby. Her hangover’s coming straight out of hell.”

That’s when Christa barged through the front door.

“Good morning!” she chirped, all glittery and smiley and _not hungover._ “How are all of you doing?”

This was absolutely ridiculous and Sasha wouldn’t stand for it.

“No!” Sasha gaped, taking another look at her. Like straight out of a CoverGirl magazine. “Your hair is _curled.”_

Christa blinked. “…So?”

“You’re wearing _lipstick,”_ Annie hissed.

“I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“We want to know why you’re not _dead.”_ Ymir demanded. “Who did you sell your soul to in order to look like that this morning?”

It took a few seconds, but she finally caught up. “Ohhh!” She slapped her forehead lightly. “You guys are hungover, huh?” She snapped her fingers, walked over to the table, snatched up all their plates, and started carrying them over to the sink. “That’s ‘cause I tried a special hangover remedy!” She sung.

“Hey,” Sasha pouted. “Those eggs may have been burned, but it was still my _breakfast.”_ Mikasa shot her a dirty look, but she ignored it. It was the truth: her eggs sucked. Well. The ones she cooked did. _Obviously_ her _other_ eggs were just fine.

“I’ll get you some proper hangover cure eggs!” Christa promised. But curiosity was replaced with horror as Sasha watched her get three tall glasses out and start cracking raw eggs into it. She put a few drops of hot sauce in them each and slid them across the counter top. “Drink up!”

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Christa pursed her lips before adapting this strange power stance that looked kinda ridiculous because of how small and cute she was. “Trust me,” she promised, “This works. Watch.”

She grabbed one of the glasses and proceeded to drink two raw eggs.

“EW.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re going to get salmonella poisoning.”

After a few chugs, Christa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “See? It’s not so bad.  I did this a few hours and look! I’m great! Now, everyone drink up!”

Sasha shook her head. “No, I think I’d much rather just spend the day avoiding light and lamenting my entire existence. But you know. Thanks.”

Christa stomped her foot on the hardwood. “Nope! I don’t think so, little miss! I need all three of you in tip top shape today.”

Ymir squinted at her. “I specifically cleared the entire weekend because I knew I’d be disastrously hung over from Halloween. So I know for a fact that I do not need to be in tip top shape today.”

“Yes you do,” Christa argued, her tone cheeky and sneaky.

“Christa, what’s going on?” Mikasa asked, trying to reach for the glasses of raw eggs to fry; Christa slapped her hand away.

“It’s 8am,” Christa said, as if that totally explained everything. She set the glasses of raw eggs, including a new one to replace the one she drank, in front of all three girls at the table.

“I know,” Annie huffed. “We all know. We’re going off 4 hours of sleep, you loser.”

“My dad’s final speech is tonight on campus at 8pm. We have 12 hours.”

That got all their attention.

“12 hours to do what, exactly?” Sasha asked.

Christa’s grin was devious as she held up a small piece of paper.  “To ruin his fucking career.”

 

* * *

 

“Does everyone have their lists?”

After Sasha and the others were forced to swallow raw eggs, Christa made sure they all showered and got ready. They were on a pretty tight schedule, but Christa _still_ made Sasha wash her hair; in fact, she was required to blow dry her hair and wear something that wasn’t denim (read: no overalls). Normally, Christa didn’t give a damn what Sasha wore, so she was curious why Christa had put her in a dress and _high heels._ High heels? Better hope walking wasn’t a requirement for the day.

But then Christa distributed the lists and everything made a little more sense.

“Um, Christa?” Sasha laughed nervously, and all heads turned her way as she pointed to her list. “What’s this word here? It looks like Lamborghini, but—“

“No, you’re right.” Christa cut her off, completely nonchalant. “It says Lamborghini.”

Ohhhhhh Myyyyyy Godddddd.

Of all people, Mikasa was the first to freak out. “ _A Lamborghini?”_ She all but snarled.

Ymir jumped up from her seat and looked at the list from over Sasha’s shoulder to confirm. She looked down at her own list and frowned. “What the hell, why does _Sasha_ get to buy the Lambo. Why can’t I buy it?”

Annie raised her hand. “I think the better question is why does she _need_ a Lambo in the first place.”

“No, let’s not question that. Let’s buy the Lamborghini and totally not ask questions.”

Obviously, Mikasa wasn’t going to stand for that policy. “I get why you want me to buy all the baby stuff,” she waved her list around, “But don’t you think the car is a little excessive?”

Christa shrugged. “So what? It won’t even make a dent into his bank account.”

“Look,” Annie drawled. “I think you’ve lost sight of a few important details in this little….” She paused, not really having the words.

“…Identity Rehaul?” Sasha supplied, and Annie nodded her head sagely in agreement.

“Identity Rehaul. Is there any chance he could maybe…sue you for taking all this money?”

Christa shook her head. “Nah. Don’t worry. I’m a lawyer in training! I know how the accounts work. I know exactly what I’m doing. My dad won’t do a thing. Not after tonight.”

“Well, I’m in.” Ymir announced. “Even if I don’t get to buy the Lambo. Because at least I get to buy…” She looked at her list. “...a Sloop. Yeah. Cool. Sloop,” Her lips popped on the last syllable. “What in the hell is a Sloop?”

“Boat,” Christa answered curtly.

“This is the best day in the entire world.”

“Time out,” Sasha cut in, putting her hands together to form a “T”. “How are we supposed to buy all these things with your cards? I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’m guessing my driver’s license doesn’t say Historia Reiss.”

“No,” Ymir hissed Sasha’s way, “It just says Killjoy.”

Christa didn’t seem perturbed. “Way ahead of you, Sasha,” she waved her hand dismissively before she lugged the giant box she had dragged in to the apartment up on the table; it hit the wooden surface with a loud thud. She pulled out a large stack of money and fanned through it. “We’re paying for everything in cash.”

“Have I mentioned this is the best day ever?”

 

* * *

 

Even semi-dolled up and looking like she actually owned the money she was about to spend, Sasha still didn’t feel comfortable buying the car by herself. (Mostly due to the backpack full of cash on her back) But because everyone was on their own individual missions to fulfill their own shopping lists, there was no time for any of the girls to go with her.

So she called Connie.

As the phone started to ring, Sasha remembered that she had been quite an ass at the party last night, particularly towards him; behavior which he had done _nothing_ to deserve. She was going to have to spit out a hundred apologies before she even thought about asking him to tag along.

_“Sasha?”_

“Hey, Conman.”

 _“Well, you sound much better than I anticipated!”_ He laughed. _“I thought your head would be in the toilet all day, considering how absolutely wasted you were.”_

She cringed at the thought. “Yeah. I’m really, really sorry about that. I was in a bad mood and since you were right there, I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

_“I know you didn’t mean it. You were just having a tough night.”_

“You have no idea,” she snorted softly.

“ _But…”_ he paused. “… _Are you alright now?”_

She smiled. “I feel a lot better. I talked with the girls.”

 _“Good! Good, good.”_ Another pause, followed by a cough. _“I’m glad they were able to help you.”_

“So….this means I’m forgiven, right?”

_“Of course. I forgave you hours ago.”_

Smooth ass motherfucker. Just who did he think he was? “Excellent. Because, I’ve got an acting job for you. Starts…in 5 seconds when I get to your front step.”

She skipped up the last few steps and slammed her phone shut and seconds later, the front door opened, revealing a grinning Connie, the phone still pressed to his ear. He hung up and reached to drag her inside, but she was quicker, grabbing him by his wrist and pulling him out.

“What’s the job?” Connie asked, trying not to trip on any of the steps on their way down to the sidewalk.

“How’s your British accent?”

“I crashed an audition and they almost cast me as Doctor Who.”

“Connie.”

“…I can do Nigel Thornberry?”

“That’ll do. We’ve got rich English socialites to impersonate.” She tugged him by his wrist and started to head toward the corner where he parked his car. “Come on, it’s a long drive.”

“Whoa!” he laughed, wiggling out of her hold. “As much as I love surprises, I lent Armin the car.”

“Nooooooooo,” Sasha whined, throwing her head back to meet the sunlight. She glanced at her watch: 9:12 am. The car dealership would be a two hour drive plus the two hour drive back, not to mention how long it would take to actually _buy_ the car—she was on a strict time budget. Who else had a car? Christa had her own car, Ymir was using Jean’s, Mikasa had Marco’s, Annie was using Bertolt’s…Damn. They might actually need this car after all.

But just her luck, she spotted a familiar face coming out of the Starbucks across the street.

“Go change,” she demanded, swinging her backpack off and shoving it in his arms as she fished out her cell phone. “Make sure you look like you can spend what’s in that backpack. Look West Egg as possible.”

He snorted, unzipping the bag. “How much do you have--- _Holy shit_.”

“Go.”

“Gatsby never had _this_ much!”

“ _Go.”_

Connie did as he was told, expression lost between baffled and starstruck. She counted her lucky stars as she slipped off her high heels and ran across the empty road.

“Eren! Eren! Hey, are you busy right now? I could really use a favor.”

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later and both Sasha and Connie were squeezed in Eren’s old pick-up truck. The truck was pretty clean, but the rusty exterior and deteriorated interior gave it another impression. Something was rattling like crazy as they drove down the relatively empty interstate and even with Eren’s somewhat decent taste in music (The Mowgli’s!) it wasn’t enough to drown at the sound. “Dude, how old is this truck?”

Eren let out a long sigh. “Pretty old,” he laughed. “It’s a 1968 Ford. It sat outside for years so I got a steal for it when we out to the farm. But I only had enough money to put some work into the mechanics. So it looks like shit until I can get it looking nice.”

“Farm folk?” Connie perked up. “Hey, us too. Welcome to the club.”

Eren regarded Sasha from the corner of his eye as he kept driving. “Really? I don’t think you ever mentioned that.”

“I didn’t?” Why would she? They were friends, but she hadn’t seen him outside work until today. Well, and last night. But she was drunk so that didn’t really count. Sasha shrugged and looked out the window. “It was just when I was little. It’s been a long time.”

They drove a bit longer in silence until Eren started asking Connie to fish out the GPS. “So, uh, where in the city am I taking you?”

“Car dealership!” Sasha chirped, as she tried to roll down the window—the handle was broken. It was a good thing it was November because his AC didn’t work.

“Oh.” Eren furrowed his brow, thinking. “There are dealerships in our town you know.”

“Yeah…” Sasha chuckled nervously. She had left out the biggest part when she asked Eren to drive them. “But they don’t sell Lamborghinis.”

 Eren swerved, drifting a bit into the shoulder of the highway. “What?” he screeched, trying to regain his bearings as he straightened the wheel out. The car behind him passed him and threw him a middle finger, and Eren shot one back. “You’re buying a Lamborghini?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

Another moment of quiet and Sasha couldn’t really tell what Eren was trying to say. But what he said still ended up surprising her. “…Have you considered a Ferrari?”

Sasha laughed, she laughed so hard she almost cried. “What, got something against Lambos?” Connie asked while she tried to remember how to breathe.

“They’re so _ugly_ ,” Eren explained, childishly laying his tongue out in a gross gesture. “If you’re going to spend like, 200,000 dollars on a car you might as well get one that looks nice—wait how do you even have 200,000 dollars to spend?”

She finally calmed down enough to answer. “It’s for one of my rich friends. She’s getting payback on her dad so we’re spending all his money,” she leaned into Eren a bit and stage whispered, “It’s a very intricate plan.”

Eren scrunched his face in disagreement. “Really?”

“It’s a very long story, but believe me, it’s true. Her dad is a regular Bill Gates.”

More flatly, “Really.”

“Okay, not Bill Gates. But Daddy Reiss is still mega rich.”

Eren’s eyes went wide. “Reiss? Like, the governor?” he asked before Sasha could even contemplate that maybe she shouldn’t be telling that secret to everyone _just_ yet. “Oh wait, never mind. The governor doesn’t have any daughters.”

“Publicly, maybe not.”

“You’re kidding,” Connie screeched beside her.

“I don’t kid.”

“No way.”

“ _Yes way.”_

 “Christa’s so damn rich because she’s the secret daughter of the multi-millionaire technology CEO turned politician?”

“That’s the one!” Sasha chirped. “And now, we get the immense honor of spending her daddy’s money before we ruin his election!”

“This is so conniving,” Connie hissed, but his grin betrayed any seriousness. “Like a movie or something. I love it.”

From the wheel, Eren scrunched his face in distaste. “So, you’re just spending money like there’s no tomorrow? On anything and everything?”

“You got it.”

“…Then why don’t you spend it on more important stuff?”

What? Lamborghinis were pretty important. Or at least, they were important since she was handed enough money to buy one.“…What do you mean?”

Eren sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, do you know how much 200,000 dollars would mean to some people? That’s a lot of meals for the homeless, or scholarships for kids who really need them. Get it? It’s like…why buy a car when you could pay off someone’s hospital bills?”

After a moment of quietness, Connie let out a long, low whistle. “You have a fine point, my new friend,” he whispered.

They turned around and went back home.

 

* * *

 

The three of them were just leaving the homeless shelter when Sasha’s phone rang, the oh-so-delightful sound of Dancing Queen.

“ _Hey. Where are you? I know it takes a while to get to the city but in a Lambo you should have made it back in like, 45 minutes.”_

“There was a change of plans,” Sasha told her. “No Lambo.”

“ _What!?”_ Ymir’s screech was almost deafening. _“What did you mean you didn’t buy the car?”_ There was some shuffling and general cursing before Christa got a hold of Ymir’s phone. _“What happened? Were you mugged? Jumped! Oh! Please tell me you’re not hurt.”_

“Pfft, I wish. That’d be pretty exciting….”

_“Sasha. Enough with that sense of humor. What happened?”_

Yikes, tough crowd today. Or was she really that bad lately. “Nothing, I just….gave the money to charity instead. Seemed like the right thing to do. Even if your dad somehow gets linked to it all.”

“ _Oh! That’s a great idea, Sasha! Don’t worry. After what I have planned, no amount of charity donation could save his ass. I don’t think, at least.”_

“What the fuck are you planning?”

“ _You’ll see! Anyway, Ymir was supposed to tell you it’s time to execute step two. I need you to call Marlowe.”_

She wobbled a bit in her heels and she reached out to grab Eren’s arm to steady her. “Marlowe. Is that the journalism major dude?”

 _“Mmmhm. Since this event is a pretty big deal, everything’s being student run to give them experience. The cameras, audio, interview questions—all university students. Marlowe is president of the school’s AV club, so he’s most suited to help us. I need you to get us in_ before _the debate between Reiss and Zoe starts, or this isn’t going to work.”_

“Oh. Um. Okay. But Christa? How do I….do that, exactly?”

_“Think of something!”_

Again, Sasha wobbled in her heels and walked—of course—into the parking meter Eren’s car was on. Ow. She grunted, yanking off her heels and throwing them in the car as she slid in to sit in the long bench, right in the middle. “The only solution I’m thinking of is sleeping with him.”

Connie pinched her arm as Christa kept talking on the other end. _“Well. Don’t do that. I mean. Unless you want to? I have no idea what he looks like. He might be cute! Though I don’t think you’ll find him cuter than Connie.”_

“Christa!”

Beside Sasha, Connie grinned. “I heard my name,” he sung lightly.

_“Oooh, is he right there? Whoops. Anyway, I’m sending you Marlowe’s number right now!”_

She shoved Connie’s face with the palm of her hand, fighting a giggle. “Why can’t you do this?”

 _“Because I’ve got a speech to write! Good luck!”_ and she hung up.

With a sigh that harmonized with the pathetic cough of Eren’s truck roaring to life, Sasha waited for Marlowe’s contact number to come through before she called. It rang three times before a very disgruntled and tired voice rasped out a _“Hello?”_

“Marlowe?”

_“Who is this? Is this the caterer? Because you were supposed to call back an hour ago.”_

Oh, too easy. Waaaaaaay too fucking easy. “Yes. This is the caterer,” she lied, her voice not very convincing but Marlowe was too frazzled to notice.

_“Oh, Finally. Listen, change of plans. I need you to come earlier than we talked about, say, maybe about 45 minutes?”_

“Suuuuure?” Sasha drawled slowly. Connie poked her and mouthed “What’s going on?” and Sasha mouthed back an “I have no clue.”

_“Great. Just tell security that you’re here when you get to the Union Building and they’ll radio me to confirm and then let you in. They’ll give you badges so you can move around and do your own thing. So, I’ll see you at 5:00?”_

“I will see you at 5:00,” Sasha confirmed before she hung up. “Connie. What time is it?”

He looked at his watch. “4:08.”

Oh boy.

“Okay. No problem,” she said, but it was more of a mantra to keep her from freaking out. Because honestly, it was a little bit of a problem. “Eren do you think we can go to the store? We need finger sandwiches and powdered donuts.”

“Finger sandwiches and powdered donuts? For what?”

“The debate down at the university? How are you not picking up what I’ve been throwing down.”

“For a political event?” Eren snorted, turning at the nearest light to the grocery store. “Shouldn’t you get calamari and crab legs?”

“I’m not buying this asshole calamari and crab legs. Besides, powdered donuts are a catering staple. Everyone loves powdered donuts. That powder might as well be cocaine. Hell, it probably _is_ cocaine, which is what makes them so addicting. _”_

“Yeah,” Connie nodded, “I’m with Sasha on this one.”

“Whatever,” Eren grumbled, his eyes rolling sky high as he pulled into the grocery store lot. “Buy what you want. This is your disaster, not mine.”

Sasha stuck out her tongue. “Who said you were invited anyway, you square?”

“You! You _literally_ invited me to drive you.”

“Oh. Right. I love you?”

“Go buy your cocaine donuts.”

 

* * *

 

After Eren had dropped Sasha off at the university union building, she handed the last of the cash on her (25,000 dollars. Well. 24,900 dollars. She wanted a McDonald’s hamburger but the smallest bills were 100s. So.) and told Connie to go with Eren to go get his sorry truck fixed. He had protested profusely at the thought but eventually she and Connie had bullied him into accepting it, telling him he could donate the leftovers to some guy in a hospital, like he had mentioned earlier.

Bypassing Marlowe’s “security” was borderline pathetic it was that easy. She showed the guy the tray of finger sandwiches and box of donuts, told him the rest were in the truck, and he let her in without so much as another glance.

“I’m in,” Sasha told Annie over the phone, her mouth stuffed with a powdered donut.

_“Did you have to punch your way in or something? You sound like your mouth is busted.”_

She didn’t bother swallowing. “No, I’m eating a donut.”

_“Well, as long as you’re in. Can you let us through?”_

At that moment, she sidestepped two rushing tech guys frantically taping cables down on the floor. “Um. I really don’t think it’s that hard. Just make something up. That’s what I did. Told them I was the caterer.”

_“And when the actual caterer shows up looking for her badge?”_

“….Um.”

_“Sasha.”_

“I’ll worry about that later. Just…” she swallowed and started licking the powder from her fingertips. “Ooh! I know! Get Bertl to bring in his big make-up costume kit and follow him in! No one will question a guy with make up as the make-up artist, right?”

_“…Actually, that’s a really good point.”_

“I’m full of excellent ideas, Annie.”

_“You jumped off a frat roof for the second time last night.”_

“I’m full of moderately good ideas, Annie.”

She could practically hear her eyes rolling. _“Whatever. Just. Lay low for now, okay? Be professional.”_

Sasha popped another powdered donut in her mouth. “I _am_ professional. The epitome of profession.”

_“Caterers don’t eat the food they bring, dipshit.”_

She hastily chewed and swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Right. Got it,” and she hung up.

Looking around the stage set up for the debate, Sasha decided it was pretty lax for the last debate before the election on Tuesday. Figuring the lax attitude was due to the fact that college kids were running the entire event, she also couldn’t help that small seedling of a thought that told her maybe this debate wasn’t really going to change anything. Sasha didn’t keep up with politics so she had no idea how close the race was. Besides, Rod Reiss was the incumbent—he already had a huge advantage there. So really—what was Christa going to do about all this?

“Ooh, are those powdered donuts?”

Sasha whirled around to find a woman sporting a messy ponytail, glasses and a pair of overalls: probably a worker laying down the stage and setting up lights. She picked up the box of donuts and offered her one. “You bet they are! Nice overalls!”

The woman almost squealed as she grabbed one and plopped it in her mouth; her eyes rolled around crazily, drifting to the back of her head. “Yum. Bless college kids for knowing how to truly cater an event. And thank you!” she beamed, dusting the powder off on her jumper. “I wear ‘em whenever I can.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sasha snorted, looking down at her own ensemble of dress and kitten heels. “I got dressed by my roommates today. I don’t get what’s wrong with my clothes.”

The lady laughed. “Right? I’ve always got people dressing me up in suits and ties---or god forbid a skirt. But it’s part of the job description, and it’s a small price to pay if everything works out.”

If everything works out? Job description? No. It couldn’t be. Right? Would she be stupid for asking? She’d find out “…Ms. Zoe? Like…the candidate Zoe?”

She burst out laughing, the knee slapping, and turn-heads kind of laugh. “Yes, the candidate Zoe.” She held out her hand, and Sasha shook it. “Hanji Zoe, former state house representative and, hopefully, your future governor.”

“Oh!” Sasha suddenly felt subconscious about her messy, fingers and hastily wiped them on her dress, before she shook her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am.” She blushed, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable. “Sorry about the whole….not really knowing who you are thing…”

She didn’t appear bothered in the slightest. “Well, I’m a little surprised—if only because you’re catering the event,” Hanji told her while Sasha whispered about a thousand curses in her head.

“Sorry,” Sasha repeated with a shrug. “I don’t keep up with politics—school and work and…stuff.”

Hanji smiled, picking up another donut and eating it. “Well, I understand. While I think it’s important that young adults keep up with politics, I’m glad that you’re focusing on your education. What are you studying?”

“Veterinarian Science.”

Hanji’s eyes lit up. “Oh, excellent! I love to see more young women interested in science.” Her brow furrowed. “So, why are you catering?”

Yeah, this wasn’t laying low.

“Just part-time to make some money. I love food.” Was this legal? Lying to a government official? Could she do that? Would they send her to jail? She wouldn’t do well in jail.

But Hanji Zoe nodded like it was acceptable, so she was in the clear. “Well smart move on the donuts. Even if they are store bought,” and she winked like it was a secret kept between them. Pfft, she had no idea.

“Sasha? Sasha!” The two women whirled around and saw Bertolt, Annie, and Mikasa heading their way, a make-up kit under Bertolt’s arms.

“Hey guys!” she waved. “I was just talking to Hanji Zoe. The uh, opposing candidate?”

Hanji went out of her way to shake all their hands and Sasha took notice that they had successfully acquired badges. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’m guessing you’re the make-up team from the drama department they tasked me?”

Bertolt opened and closed his mouth, clearly uncomfortable with blatantly lying, so Annie did it for him. “He is, anyway. You’ll have to excuse Bertl, he’s a bit shy.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he squeaked out with a nervous chuckle just as Hanji reached over and patted his cheek.

“Well, aren’t you sweet! This is exciting! I’m so glad they’re giving the students the opportunities to run everything.” She tugged on his hands and dragged him to small area that was set aside for her and Rod Reiss to wait and get ready for their last speeches before the election. “Well, let’s get to work. Give me a look that says ‘Winner’, you know?”

 

* * *

 

Sasha didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to not get busted.

She supposed any confusion about _two_ caterers and _two_ make-up artists (did the other make-up artist even show up? College kids were so lazy) were squashed because they ended up hanging out with Hanji until it was time to execute the final stage of their plan (something Christa had been keeping secret, and they all eagerly awaited a call.) No one was going to question the people _talking_ to Hanji on whether or not they belonged there. And quite frankly, Sasha was glad they didn’t; after talking to her and getting the basics on her platform, Sasha and the others decided they _really_ liked her. She was young, and if elected, the youngest woman to ever be governor. But she was also _brilliant._ Hanji had so many ideas to improve education, the economy and human rights. A little on the eccentric side, sure, but Sasha knew that she would 100% vote for her.

….If she had registered to vote in time, which she didn’t. Oh well. Fingers crossed Christa fucked up Rod Reiss’ life.

Bertolt and Mikasa were helping her pick out a tie to go with the suit she had changed into when Sasha got a call from Christa. “Where the hell are you?” Sasha hissed into the receiver, and Annie pressed her ear to Sasha’s head, obviously curious as well. “They’re about to go start in _fifteen_ minutes.”

 _“Actually, we’re going to start in ten minutes.”_ Five minutes early?

“Christa, I really admire your dedication to this cause but honestly _what_ are you planning?”

_“Get everyone and go back to the box, in the ballroom. With all the equipment and stuff? Ymir’s in there.”_

“Christa—“

“ _Just go!”_

Christa hung up and Sasha scowled, annoyed. “C’mon,” She nodded towards Annie and Mikasa. “We’re gonna go meet up with Ymir.”

“Everything alright?” Hanji asked from her chair just as Bertolt was curling her eyelashes—Sasha heard him berate her for the third time about flinching.

“Yeah, we’ve just got to go,” Sasha told her, reaching gently for Mikasa’s hand. “Good luck, ma’am.”

“Oh, alright. Thanks girls! Have a good night. And thanks for coming out!”

The three of them managed to squeeze through the already massive crowd to the back, where the small audio and visual room was. Sasha took notice that there were two camera set up as they passed—she hadn’t realized this was going to be televised.

Sasha knocked twice before the door was ripped open and she was grabbed roughly by the collar and thrown in. Mikasa and Annie got the privilege of walking in on their own accord before Ymir slammed the door shut behind them. There were four tech guys running the booth but all of them were seated on a small couch, fanning their faces with piles of money.

“Hey,” Ymir greeted a little breathless, running her hand through her hair.

“What’s….going on?” Sasha asked, looking at the boys on the couch. The one on the end shrugged and told them a small blonde girl had paid them each 2,000 dollars to let Ymir run the equipment for the first ten minutes of the event.

“And you just…let her?” Mikasa asked. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get in trouble?”

He shrugged again. “Why would we? This isn’t that big of a deal. Besides, she’s a senior production assistant, she knows what she’s doing.

Ymir closed her eyes and mouthed a curse, unseen by the boys on the couch. What a fucking liar. At least Sasha only lied about being a caterer. Who lies about being a tech nerd?

Ymir sighed and threw her roommates a desperate look. “I….I think it’s correct. I actually did take a production class in college,” she leaned into Sasha and whispered very quietly, “I have to make sure everything’s hooked up sound wise five minutes beforehand.”

Sasha was so lost. So, so lost. “Why?” she whispered back.

Ymir held up an USB drive. “Christa’s going to crash this political party and reveal her father’s scandal before the debate goes on live TV.”

Unfortunately, that part wasn’t spoken so quietly. “Is she nuts?”

So of course, all the boys on the couch heard that part. “Wait, what are you guys doing?” one of them jumped up. “You can’t mess with the schedule!”

“Annie,” Ymir barked. “Guard the door.”

One of them sputtered and laughed as he walked up to her. At a staggering 6’0, he was just about as tall as Bertolt. “I’m getting security, and there’s nothing this little midget is going to do— _ack!”_

She grabbed his arm and twisted his arm behind his back. “You were saying?” she asked flatly, and shoved him back towards the couch. None of the other boys made any kind of move other than to shove their cash into their pockets.

Ymir glanced at the clock on her phone. “I’ve got like…five minutes to make sure this equipment is right _and I don’t know if it’s right.”_ She snapped her head up and looked at the kid whose arm was just twisted. “You. Come make sure I didn’t mess anything up.”

“I’m not getting involved in whatever felony you guys are committing,” he sneered.

“It’s not a felony!” Sasha rolled her eyes. “We’re delivering justice! Uncovering the truth! Aren’t you guys journalist majors, don’t you care about scandals like this?”

“I’m just a production major.”

“Yeah, I do computer science?”

“Communications.”

“I do magazine journalism which is vastly different from—“

Sasha stomped her foot on the floor. “Cowards! Don’t you want to be a part of something huge? We’re uncovering the equivalent of fucking _Watergate.”_

Ymir sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, scrunching her nose. “It’s not _that_ big…”

“…We’re uncovering the equivalent of the fucking Lewinsky scandal!”

“That’s better, I guess.”

The boys looked at each other contemplatively. “I don’t know…”

“Done.”

Ymir and Sasha whirled around to find Mikasa had already tampered with the equipment. "I was in the AV club in high school." She held out her palm and nodded towards the USB drive. “Just give me that. You want it on the projector, right?”

“How did you do that?” Ymir said, awed, as she handed over the memory stick.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mikasa told her, plugging the memory drive in. “I just checked it over. You did everything correctly.”

“See?” Sasha cooed, bumping her hip with Ymir’s. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit.”

“We did the gushy thing last night,” Ymir grumbled, moving Sasha over to sit in front of one of the tiny screens. “Watch and monitor. This is bound to be a shit show.”

Sasha mockingly saluted her. “Aye aye, cap’n.”

And boy, was it a shit show.

 

* * *

 

The planets aligned for Christa to pull this shit off.

She walked right on to the stage while everyone in the ball room was still talking; people must have thought she was fiddling with the stands, making sure wires were connected, doing sound checks or whatever, because no one came to pull her off. She tapped on the mic and announced, “May I have everyone’s attention, please?”

It took a minute, but the crowd died down, but not before a short applause welcoming what they thought was the start of an event. “Hello. My name’s Historia Reiss. I’m Rod Reiss’ daughter.”

Well. That was one way of going about it. “This is her big intricate plan? Pretty simple if you ask me.” Sasha said, and Ymir shushed her loudly, even going as far as to thunk her in the back of the head. Kinda rude, to be honest.

There was a bit of chatter in what was otherwise a silent room. Rod Reiss came out from behind the stage just as Ymir and Mikasa pulled up a picture of her birth certificate, Rod Reiss' name signed at the bottom, on the white screen of the projector behind them.

 _That’s_ when the crowd got a bit noisier.

“I’m not here to cause a big stir,” Historia paused. “No, actually, that’s exactly what I’m here to do. But it’s only because I think that you all deserve the truth.”

Rod Reiss went up to the stage and grabbed Historia’s arm. His voice was just loud enough to be picked up by the microphone. “Christa, what are you doing?”

A few people in the crowd shouted “Let go of her, man!” and “Let her talk!” Rod Reiss looked hesitant, but Historia flashed him a fake smile. “Don’t worry, Rod. We’re not on television. Not yet. But every second you delay me talking, that’s another part of this speech that’ll get put on television. Can’t change the air time, you know. Is that something that you want?”

There was a banging on the audio and visual room followed by some demands that the boys open up. “Bar up the door with the couch,” Ymir hissed, and the boys, now interested in what Historia had to say, hopped up to help push it in front of the already locked door.

Sasha looked back down at the monitor and saw Rod had stepped aside, letting go of her arm. “As I was saying, I am the daughter of Rod Reiss and Cynthia Renz. And, as I’m sure might be aware, Cynthia isn’t the governor’s wife. She was his mistress twenty years or so ago. Back when he was a businessman, and not a politician. Now, men have mistresses all the time. Children are born out of wedlock. It’s sad, but it’s the truth, and I could accept that truth…if Rod had accepted it as well.

“You see,” she sighed, pausing, and on the monitor, Historia’s shoulders shook a bit with the weight of what she was trying to say. “My father tried to cover up his affair. He paid off me and my mother to keep our mouths shut: from his wife, his sons—my brothers—and from all of you. And I wish that was the worst of it.

“As you know, Rod Reiss expresses disapproval of abortion in our state. While I don’t agree with this stand--with most of his agenda, really—he is entitled to his opinions. But what really irks me, and you’ll have to tell me if you agree, is that he has contradicted his own beliefs by bribing my mother over 20 years ago to have an abortion.”

The crowd gasped.

“Damn,” Sasha whispered, “She is _so_ not fucking around right now.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ymir grinning like a madman.

“What a hero,” Ymir whispered. “I’m so proud of her.”

"Obviously, I'm still here, so that didn't exactly happen. And obviously, Rod Reiss signed the birth certificate, for whatever reason. I don't know what he was going to do--stick by my mother, try to spin the story in his favor--but he ended up chickening out. Probably because after I was born his wife got pregnant. I don't know though. This is only speculation on my part. I'll let you judge for yourself.

“I don’t have proof of all this,” Historia admitted. “I don’t know if I could ever prove that abortion bribe was true or not. Unless someone could trace a check for 25,000 dollars made out to Cynthia Renz 23 years ago. Oh. Wait. Hah. You might be able to do that, can’t you?”

Rod Reiss, more flustered and embarrassed than angry, came up and yanked the mic away from Historia. “That is _enough.”_

She held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, Alright. I’m done. Just…one more thing?” Rod squawked as Historia ripped the mic back her way. “I don’t really care if you believe me, but I wanted to put the truth out there for you to have. I think you all deserve to know such contradictory actions of your governor before you consider reelecting him. I'm his daughter, I can prove it with my own blood. And as much as Rod Reiss wished I didn’t exist to mess up his perfect family and his perfect job, the truth is he messed it up a long time ago. His 4’11, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, lesbian daughter exists, and I won’t be ignored any longer.”

Sasha turned her head slightly, still keeping her eyes on the monitor. “Did she just say lesbian.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mmhm.”

Sasha grinned. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Ymir.”

“Shut up,” she blushed.

 “Oh, we’re about to go live?” Historia asked, and the camera men nodded, panicked, before they did a small countdown. “Welcome to the debate! For those of you just tuning in, we’re about to open up the Q & A from audience participants. Normally, I’d say ladies first, but I think we’ll let Rod Reiss go first. Is that alright, Ma'am?”

Hanji threw a thumbs up, a broad smile on her face. “Please. I would _love_ for him to go first.”

Sasha held up her hands in victory. “Looks like it’s Goodbye, Christa, Hello, Historia!”

 

* * *

 

Historia's plan worked.

A few days later, Hanji Zoe was elected governor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK....TOO LONG. I realize it's been three weeks since I posted the last chapter. It's just this chapter was outlined as "figure it out later" while all the others looked much prettier. and yeah, I had to figure it all out. I'm still not totally happy with it, but I figured if I don't clean it up and post it soon, I'll never finish the fic. Also, I realize that some of the technical jargon might be off and at best, a little vague, but I didn't want to dive too deep into territory I wasn't too familiar with. BASICALLY, I hope this suffices. There will be a bit of follow up the next chapter, BUT the next chapter will be the Thanksgiving chapter and completely Ymir centric!!! I'm super excited to write it I've been looking forward to it since I started writing the fic, so I hope it won't take too long. Also, I don't think Christa's mom had a name, so I gave her one. Also, I know that "Rod" might need to be "Lod"??? But in the translation I read it was "Rod" so, just...let it be Rod it's not that important aha. ALSO LAST THING Christa will be referred to as "Historia" for the rest of the story. Mostly. The girls might have a few slip ups :)


	11. liver let die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which someone needs a goddamn transplant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: there's a lot of alcohol use in this chapter, and some scary stuff that accompanies that, if that's bothersome for you. But I tried to keep it non-graphic as possible.

_November 22nd_

“Come on!” Annie barked, “You can do it, you big baby. Lift with your knees.”

Sasha gaped at her before she hooked her arms underneath Mikasa’s bed. “Explain to me why trying to pick up her bed is better than trying to _scoot_ it.”

“Because this isn’t carpet and it’ll scratch the floors,” Annie answered. “C’mon, the faster we get this done the better.”

Back when they five of them spent all of Rod Reiss’ money, Mikasa had ordered an ungodly amount of baby supplies, including a crib. Well, said custom crib arrived a week ago; it sat in the living room clunking up space until the girls found a solution since it wasn’t going to fit in Mikasa’s nook of a bedroom.

Sasha had put off that problem when she invited Mikasa to live with them and told herself she would get to it when it came up later. So yeah, it was later, and the simplest and easiest solution she had come up with was to just…switch rooms with Mikasa (Sasha did have the biggest room); hence, why Sasha was currently swapping around heavy furniture with Annie, the only other girl in the whole damn apartment who was able and willing to help her.

“I really don’t want you to give up your room,” Mikasa made clear for the _hundredth time,_ as she watched Annie and Sasha move the furniture out of the room and into the hallway. The mattress was hard enough, and Sasha was beginning to understand you had to _lift_ the bed frame to get it on its side to make it out the door.“Your desk won’t fit in my room, it doesn’t make sense.”

Sasha’s arms felt like jelly under the weight as she and Annie started to move the bed out into the main living room for now. “There’s room in the living room, by the big window? I’ll just put it up against there. It’s not a big deal.”

“Concentrate, your end is slipping,” Annie snapped as they wobbled into the hallway and out into the living room.

“I could just as easily put the crib in the living room.”

“Yeah, no, no one wants that crib in the living room. It needs to be in your room!” Sasha huffed, setting down the bed. “Mikasa, it’s fine. Really. I’ve slept in a lot smaller,” she laughed, trying to drop the matter, but the only thing that dropped was Mikasa’s expression, from her brow to the corners of her lips.

“This is _your_ apartment,” Mikasa emphasized, as if that was a good enough reason to make Sasha change her mind. Hint: it wasn’t.

“It’s _our_ apartment and if you don’t stop whining about this, I’m going to kick your ass. Don’t think I haven’t kept tally, because I have. As soon as you pop this kid out you’re due for 34 ass-kickings.” They set the bed down.

“…Maybe if we talk to Ymir and Historia we can—“

_“35!”_

“Where are those two anyway?” Annie groused, putting her hands on her hips. “We could use their help. Or, at least Ymir’s. I don’t think Historia can lift anything heavier than a credit card,” she teased, just as the three of them heard the door slam.

“I heard that!” Historia sang as she skipped into the hallway to greet them all. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold, a red cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck before she unwound it and gave it to Mikasa. “I got it dry-cleaned for you, but then I got cold and I wore it to lunch. Hope you don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” Mikasa murmured, wrapping it around her own neck.

“You were wearing it when I met you, weren’t you?” Sasha asked, staring at the scarf. She’d seen it around the house, but Mikasa hadn’t worn it much until November rolled around and it started getting cold.

“Probably,” Mikasa shrugged, stuffing her face in the fabric. “It’s a bit of a comfort thing.”

Annie cocked her head to the white container peeking out of Historia’s bag. “Where’d you go to lunch?”

“And with _whom?”_ Sasha tacked on suspiciously.

Historia rolled her eyes knowingly. “I was having lunch with my dad.”  Before Sasha or Annie could go off on a rant, she added, “Look, I still don’t know what game he’s exactly pulling right now but all I know is he’s still giving me money and all I got to do is go to a restaurant with him every once in a while.”

“He’s trying to save his ass, that’s what he’s doing,” Annie sighed, stepping over Mikasa’s bed to get a drink of water from the kitchen. “The public expects him to treat you well. If word gets out he cut you off after you’re little reveal stunt, people would be on his ass _forever.”_

Historia shrugged, okay with that assessment. “Fine by me. He’s still giving me a little money and paying for my school, what do I care?”

She had a good enough point. If there was any funny business down the line, Sasha would deal with it later. Kinda like she was dealing with the whole room situation at the moment. “Hey, wanna help switch me and Mikasa’s rooms?”

“Switch rooms?” Historia asked confused. She ran over to Mikasa’s as if she had forgotten what it had looked like. “Oh no! The desk I bought you won’t fit in there!”

“So tragic.”

Tapping her chin in thought, Historia ignored Sasha’s sarcasm. “You know, the baby really should have its own nursery.”

Hopping on the bed, Sasha splayed herself out on the displayed mattress. “Well, I can’t exactly build another room. What are you going to do?” she asked, making imaginary snow angels. “Move out?”

“No, I just thought maybe Ymir and I could share a room.”

Sashe rolled straight off the bed in shock.

“What!?” she screeched, rolling herself upright. She took a quick assessment of Historia’s disposition and saw nothing all-telling, so she decided to dig deeper. Start with the big guns. “You two are banging, aren’t you!?”

 _That_ made her blush. “What gave you that idea?” Historia squeaked.

Annie stepped in on this one. “Please. You could share a room with any of us, but you want to share one with the only other person in the apartment who’s into chicks?”

“You’re _banging_ aren’t you!” Sasha repeated, this time tone laced with laughter. Historia groaned, hand on her face, which seemed like a yes to her. She clapped her hands and howled in over-exaggerated amusement. “Oh, this is great! Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t _Ymir_ tell me.” She frowned, letting that fact sink in. “Hey…why didn’t Ymir tell me!? She tells me everything.” Sasha jumped up and started marching around the apartment towards Ymir’s bedroom. “Where is she…”

Because Sasha’s footsteps were likely heavy enough to classify her as elephant, Ymir ripped open her door seconds before Sasha could barge in; she promptly covered Sasha’s mouth with her hand, her other hand holding the phone to her ear while she gabbed on in Arabic.

Ymir had a _huge_ family, and it wasn’t too strange for an aunt or uncle to call her during the week. A lot of them spoke English and/or French, but most of them seemed to prefer to speak in Arabic. Sasha always presumed it was because Ymir didn’t want anyone in the apartment to eavesdrop on her conversation.

Unfortunately for Ymir, Sasha managed to hear one word that she did understand: Dalia.

Aka: Ymir’s mom.

“Dalia?” Sasha yelled from behind Ymir’s hand; she licked her fingers and Ymir pulled her hand away, disgusted. “Dalia? Are you talking to your mom?” She went for it. “HI DALIA!”

Wincing, Ymir pulled the phone away from her ear just far enough that Sasha could hear, in plain English, _“Baby, who is that?”_

“Sorry, that’s my roommate, Sasha. You probably don’t remember her, you only met her—“

Her voice was clear, even without a speaker phone; loud and brash, just like her daughter’s. _“Sasha! Oh, I remember Sasha! Such a sweet girl. Honey, put her on the phone.”_

“Dalia—“

“ _Ymir, put her on the phone!”_

With a roll of her eyes, Ymir lazily dropped the phone into Sasha’s palm. “Don’t come whining to me when she ends up talking your ear off for three hours,” she hissed, before she wandered out of her room and into the kitchen.

“Dal, my favorite Gal!” Sasha yelled into the phone; she heard Ymir groan from the living room. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

_“Oh I know! But you know Mimi, she doesn’t like the lot of us around all the time cramping her style.”_

“Mimi?” Sasha giggled. Hadn’t heard that one yet.

“Sasha, come out here, I want to monitor this conversation,” Ymir suddenly barked; must have heard the Mimi comment.

“Well, I don’t see how you could cramp her style,” Sasha explained as she skipped over to the living room to lie back down on Mikasa’s bed. “Dalia, you’re the coolest mom ever. I mean that.” It was true. Sasha didn’t really have any other moms to compare her to, so, yeah. A true statement.

_“You’re too kind, honey! I just wish Ymir felt the same way. I don’t know what else I have to say to get her to come home for Thanksgiving.”_

Sasha put the phone on speaker and laid it on the mattress. “Ymir, why don’t you want to go home for Thanksgiving?”

“Because,” Ymir drawled, “It’s far away. Very far away.”

_“I’m not asking you to fly to Morocco, your aunts and uncles are already flying in for us! Your dad’s parents are even coming from France! It’s our turn to host Thanksgiving dinner!”_

Clearly unhappy with being put on speaker phone, Ymir scowled. “Thanksgiving is an American tradition. Why are they so hell bent on celebrating it?”

_“Oh, you know them, they’ll take any chance they get to drunk at a party.”_

“Runs in the family, I see,” Sasha whispered just as Ymir tossed a couch pillow into her face.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Sasha wasn’t sure who was going to yield. Then Ymir pulled out what was most likely her last card. “I can’t leave my roommates, they don’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving.”

Not very true, at least for Sasha. Pixis had called her half a dozen times in the past two weeks, but she had ignored the calls in case of any unwanted conversations about her dad’s health or worse—her health.

 _“What do you mean?”_ Dalia asked slowly.

“They don’t have families, Dalia,” Ymir said, point blank. “All their parents are either deadbeats or…”

“Dead,” Mikasa finished flatly. Annie snickered.

 _“Who was that? Was that Annie?”_ It seemed Ymir had been talking about them after all. _“Or Melissa?”_

“Mikasa,” she corrected her own name politely. “Yes ma’am, that’s me.”

_“Oh, you poor thing, I’m so sorry to hear about that. Annie too?!”_

 “No, but…my mom’s going on vacation with her boyfriend,” Annie explained. “They offered to let me come, which was nice and everything, but I didn’t want to tag along for that.”

“Same,” Historia chimed in. “I don’t want to go anywhere with my mom. Or my dad. Except they aren’t nice. They’re terrible.”

“My mom’s dead and my dad’s missing,” Sasha lied. “Not much of a Thanksgiving by yourself.”

“See?” Ymir butt in loudly. “I can’t leave them by themselves to wallow in self-pity wishing they had better families to share a turkey dinner with. We were going to just….stay here and have Thanksgiving together.”

Annie snorted lightly. “We were going to watch football and get drunk,” she mumbled, but Ymir elbowed her to get her quiet.

 _“Oh, honey, I understand,”_ and Ymir smiled smugly, thinking she won. Key word being ‘thinking.’ _“Hey, I’ve got an idea!”_

“Please don’t,” Ymir begged lightly.

_“Yeah, yeah! Invite them over to our place for dinner! Sure it’ll be a little crowded, but we can make some extra room for you girls. Oh, it would be so much fun! I’ve been dying to meet your roommates, especially that Tori girl you keep mentioning—“_

The sound got a little muffled when Ymir reached over to cover the speaker on her phone. She waited for her mother to finish gushing about her kinda-sorta-girlfriend to take her hand off. _“C’mon, Mimi, what do you say?”_

“Dalia, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead.

_“And why not?”_

“Because,” Ymir’s eyes scanned the room looking for an excuse before they locked with Mikasa’s. “Mikasa is pregnant. She’s due to pop any day now. We should stay close to the hospital.”

“I’m only six months pregnant,” Mikasa corrected, a little sour that someone, yet again, did the revealing of her pregnancy. It was an odd thing for her to get worked up about (especially since it was obvious at this point), but everyone had their weird little…things. “I think I can drive—“

“Nope, can’t do it! Sorry!”

A long pause. Sasha wasn’t entirely sure, but if she had to guess, Dalia was pulling out her last cards. _“It’s sweet of you to think of your friend’s health and safety. Which is why we’ll just have to make the hour and a half drive up to you!”_

Fear flashed in Ymir’s eyes. “No, no, no, you don’t have to do that.”

_“What’s the address of your new place?”_

“Not telling you.”

_“I’ll just ask Daddy if you don’t tell me.”_

“Victor doesn’t know my new address, either.”

Her mother sighed on the other end. _“Why don’t you want us to come see you?”_ She sounded hurt.

Sasha was a little peeved. As they had all just gone over, most of the apartment consisted of recipients of the We Have The Worst Parents Ever Award, and here was Ymir, with her big family and happily married parents straight out of a Feel-Good children’s movie, and she didn’t want to see them! Well, Sasha wanted to see them. Damn, Sasha wanted to see what a normal family looked like so she opened her mouth and shouted, “104 Garrison Avenue!”

“SASHA.”

 _“Got it!”_ Dalia chirped from the other end. _“It’s going to be a lot of fun girls, I promise! We’ll bring over most of the food, so you don’t have to worry too much about the cooking. I’ll call you later tonight with more details. Love you.”_

The line went dead and Ymir mustered up a look that had Sasha thinking she’d soon be dead, too.

“Why did you do that?” Ymir screeched, running over and jumping on Mikasa’s bed to give Sasha a good several slaps to her…everywhere. “Why would you invite my family over here what is wrong with you!?”

“What’s the big deal?” Sasha managed to say under the Great Smothering. “Why don’t _you_ want to see them? They seem really nice.”

Ymir softened at that description. “Well, yeah, they are nice. Really nice, actually. _Too_ nice.”

Mikasa stifled a laugh. “How can someone be _too_ nice?”

“They’re _perfect_ ,” Ymir continued, “They’re good at everything and anything. My mom’s a pharmacist and my dad’s a lawyer. Lily’s an Olympian. My grandfather made movies during the French New Wave. Everyone does all these cool things, and then there’s me, who apparently missed out on that achievement gene and become a college dropout made sad bartender.”

Ooh. That did sound a little rough. But instead of complimenting her bartending skills, Sasha pointed out the obvious. “Well, at least they don’t care that you didn’t finish college. They still think you’ve done pretty well!”

Ymir’s face squished into a cocktail of her own making, complete with two parts regret and one part vodka that she probably had with her breakfast that morning. “Here’s the thing…They kinda think…I’m still in school?”

Oh, my god.

Sasha’s jaw felt like it was going to come unhinged. “You dropped out of school _two years ago!”_

“Yes! And those two years have been well spent in imaginary medical school. Or law school. I…forget which family members still don’t know about the first switch.”

“Your life is a disaster,” Mikasa commented casually.

Ymir took note of how Mikasa kept rubbing her hands on her protruding stomach. “Yeah, well I’m not the one knocked up at 18, am I?”

“…Touché.”

“Okay, Okay,” Historia declared, ever the mediator in Sasha and Ymir’s yelling matches before they got too wild. “One dinner. You can get through one dinner without talking about school right? I’m sure there’s loads more to talk about!”

She tugged at her hair. “What if they ask about classes? I don’t know anything that I might have picked up in law school or med school because I didn’t go to either!”

Sasha raised her hand and waited; Annie picked up on the gimmick and called on her like a school teacher, complete with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Well, you’re in luck because you’ve got one roommate in med school and one…almost in law school!”

“You’re in vet school.”

“Close enough.”

“She’s right!” Historia bounced on her heels in excitement of a possible solution. “I’ve studied for the LSATs. I’m sure I know enough to answer the questions.”

Ymir sighed. “You answering them isn’t going to hide the fact that I don’t know them!”

“Sure it is,” Mikasa made a slow walk to one of the chairs beside the couch. “They’ll just assume you taught us everything.”

“Historia doesn’t gab on about law school, and Sasha doesn’t talk about vet school! Aside from the pictures she sends _every time_ someone brings in a puppy.”

Okay, she made it sound like she didn’t _like_ pictures of cute puppies. “Don’t act like you don’t love them.”

“Or,” Historia sighed, putting a hand on her hip. “Ymir, maybe you could use this opportunity to be honest with your parents?”

She scrunched her nose, clearly not fond of Historia’s suggestion. “Uh, no?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to?”

Annie gave a nonchalant thumbs-up. “That’s the spirit.”

The thing was, Ymir was actually looking distressed in the subtle way that she was gnawing on her lips and picking at her stubs or nails. While Sasha thought this would be another instance where Ymir would pout and bitch and eventually get over it, maybe she had read the signs wrong. After all, Sasha had her own problems she’d tried to bury six feet under, and she definitely would not like any of her friends forcing her to call her grandfather or go to the hospital to see Papa.

“Look, Ymir,” Sasha sighed, “I’m not trying to make things harder for you. But really, what did you expect would happen in two or three years when you’re supposed to be some fancy doctor or big time lawyer?”

“Truthfully?” Her voice so casual and blank, it was unfitting to what she said next, “I was going to move. Get a new phone. Break off most contact.”

“Ymir,” Historia whispered. “You love your mom. You wouldn’t want that.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I do love her. But I’m not like her. I’m not like any of them. I’d hate to stick around to see what they’d say to me when they found out I was a failure.”

“You’re _not_ a failure,” Mikasa snapped.

“Save it for the Thanksgiving feast,” Ymir rolled her eyes. “Actually, yeah. Save it. Keep all praise until Thanksgiving. We’ve got a charade to pull off.”

Sasha thought about all the charades she’d ever tried to pull and their success rates; no surprise that those rates were rather low. Sounded like a recipe for disaster. And speaking of disasters, “Do you think we’ll have to cook a turkey?”

Ymir’s rage subsided to make room for her preferred apathy. “Huh? Oh, nah, dude, I thought I’d just get some honey baked ham or some shit.”

Annie frowned. “Your family can eat pork?”

“We’re not exactly a _religious_ bunch,” Ymir admitted, pointing to her large wine rack. “Don’t worry about food restrictions. I’m sure we can just…wing it. Go to the grocery store and buy a ham. Instant mac & cheese? Uhh, canned vegetables, maybe? My mom will handle the rest.”

“No.”

Four heads turned Sasha’s way. “No, what?” Ymir reiterated. “I mean, I guess we can do corn on the cob.”

“No,” Sasha repeated. “We’re not going to half-ass this. If your family is coming over, then I’m sorry, but this is officially a _family event,_ which means we’re going to put some time and effort into this meal.”

Ymir flushed red in affront. “They’re not your family, they’re mine! Why do you care?”

“Be _cause_ ,” Sasha emphasized, “You’re _my_ family. So your family is my family too now, got it?”

She blushed brighter, this time out of embarrassment. Sasha thought it was too precious for this world. “No need to get all mushy…”

“It would be nice,” Mikasa added on, “to cook for your mother and all your other family. I for one, would be honored to help make her feel welcomed.” She started rubbing her stomach absently. “Mostly because it’d be nice to something other than sit around all day and trim flowers at the greenhouse.”

Something in Ymir snapped. Or more like, a thread at the hem of her patience was starting to seriously unravel. “Fine! Let’s cook! We’ll cook everything! But, one more question: who the fuck knows how to cook anything?” Annie opened her mouth to defend her own cooking skills, but Ymir was quick to shut down that, “Heating a Panini on the stove is not cooking, Ann.”

Annie grumbled something with the words, “make your own damn sandwich next time.”

Okay, true. None of them really knew how to cook; or at least, not anything tasty and worthy enough for a Thanksgiving meal for like, 20 people. But really, was it that much of an obstacle? “We’ll learn! That’s what Google is for. How hard could it be?”

“Don’t _say_ that!”

Historia plopped on Mikasa’s bed, frowning when she realized the sheets she reached out for were stripped from the bed. “Maybe we should clear out the living room of all Mikasa’s stuff. How long did it take for you to take it out, exactly?”

Before Sasha could move the conversation towards Historia’s outrageous living arrangement suggestion, Annie fished her phone out and pressed a speed dial. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.” Whoever was on the other end was quick to answer. “Hey, sweetie, do you think you could grab Reiner and come over here? I could use some help with something.”

Sasha grinned. “Putting him too good use, eh?”

Annie grinned back. “What else is he good for, really?”

 

* * *

 

_How to Smoke a Turkey_

That’s what was typed in the Google search bar in Sasha’s laptop at 5:45 in the goddamn morning Thanksgiving day. Mikasa had woken up with her, quiet and pleasant, but maybe a little tired, while all the other girls had successfully remembered to lock their doors so Sasha couldn’t poor cold water on their heads like she had promised.

“Okay,” Mikasa yawned, staring at the computer. She squinted and rubbed her eyes before she nabbed Annie’s reading glasses and put them on her face. “Are you sure you want to smoke it? It takes hours.”

Sasha shrugged. “It takes hours to cook it in the oven, too. This way tastes better anyway.”

“True,” Mikasa agreed with another yawn. Quickly, she scanned the instructions, even going as far as to click more than one website on the Google results. “Where are we going to cook it?”

“Uh…the fire escape?”

“Isn’t blocking the fire escape with stuff that can catch fire taboo?”

“Well, don’t let the fire department see you, duh.”

Sasha could see a snarky retort on the tip of Mikasa’s tongue, but she swallowed it to make way for a different question. “Do we have the stuff to even smoke it? The smoker?”

“…You need a special smoker?”

This time, Mikasa rolled her eyes. “It’s going in the oven,” to which Sasha didn’t really have the heart to argue against. They’d be lucky if nothing caught on fire.

For the rest of the early morning, it was just the two of them. Sasha turned on the television and waited for the Macy’s parade to start as she gutted the turkey. _That_ part she had no trouble with at all; she’d hunted alongside her father enough to know what parts to get rid of and what to keep, and she was having the time of her life pretending to be a mad scientist screeching, “The heart! The heart!” as she ripped it out of its chest cavity.

So all in all, a pretty fun morning, especially when Annie woke up all bleary eyed and walked into the kitchen only to be pelted with what could only be described as…well, the turkey’s liver.

“What is wrong with you!” Annie gruffed, kicking aside the liver after it smacked her in the chest.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she slid a coffee Annie’s way. “How could Sasha waste such valuable organs? Well, the liver sucks so we’re not using it.”

“What I was thinking can’t be said,” Annie growled, reaching for a napkin to wipe her hands, “Because I think even Mikasa’s unborn child would pick up on the terrible language I’m about to use.” But after a few sips of coffee Annie calmed down enough to ask, “So how’s the cooking going?”

“Great!” Sasha chirped as she took the turkey and tried to fit it in the pan—a tight squeeze, but it would make it. “Just got to put this baby in. Mikasa’s making some stuffing.” From the other end of the kitchen, Mikasa held up her hand in greeting, back turned.  “I think we might actually pull something off.”

“Don’t jinx it yet,” Annie reminded her from behind her coffee. “That kind of behavior is what’ll lead to Ymir drinking herself drunk before 9 am.”

“She _wouldn’t.”_

Christa and Ymir’s bedroom door opened and closed with a slam. “I wasn’t guessing,” Annie sung teasingly just as Ymir stumbled out of her bedroom, a handle of tequila in her hand. Which was especially alarming considering she preferred vodka; meaning, she was seriously low on her stash.

“G’mornin’,” She slurred slightly, although her balance was impeccable as she marched to the kitchen for a glass of water (thank every God known to man.) “Smells good.”

Sasha glanced at her hands, “Yeah? I love the smell of raw meat in the morning too?”

Puzzled, Ymir sniffed the air before she let her suspicions go with an exaggerated shrug—the strap of her camisole slipped off her shoulders in the process. “Dunno what I smell, then.”

“Your own liver burning in alcohol?” Mikasa suggested quietly, and Annie snickered.

“That’s a thing, you know,” Sasha pointed out as she walked over to Ymir. Her hands weren’t clean, so she couldn’t pull her mouth open, therefore settling with getting as close to her face as possible. “You can smell liver failure. Open your mouth, let me smell your breath.”

“What--?”

“Cirrhosis. It smells like rancid fruit, I believe. No? Maybe? I dunno,” Sasha sniffed when a yawn forced Ymir to open her mouth. “…I smell strawberries!” Sasha gasped. “Ymir, you finally did it, you’re dying.”

Frowning, Ymir let out a loud belch. Ew. “Or you smell the strawberry vodka I finished off before I started downing _this,”_ and she lifted the bottle above her hand when Sasha made a swipe for it. “Uh-uh, I need this shit if I’m going to spend an entire day talking to my _parents._ All requests for me to attend dinner sober will be denied.”

Unfortunately, Sasha didn’t have much of an argument to counter that. After all this was her idea. So she settled with a small compromise. “Could you at least keep it at a minimum until we’re done setting up the apartment? Please?”

After setting her bottle on the top of the fridge where _no one_ else could reach it, Ymir assisted Annie in moving the couches and chair in the living room to the walls to make room for the collapsible tables that Sasha, uh _borrowed_ from a storage room in the campus union building a few days ago before vacation started. As far as the chairs went, Annie borrowed half a dozen collapsible metal chairs from the music hall that were used for overflow during concerts.

“Now remember,” Ymir huffed when her finger caught in a metal hinge on one of the chairs, “Try to keep the conversation on _you_ guys and not on me, okay? Dalia’s going to try to embarrass me with all these stories of me and my cousins when we were kids—“

“I’d hope so.”

“—which is _fine_ and _whatever_ but I’d just like to avoid segue ways into the future.”

“Don’t worry,” Sasha promised, heading over to pick up the turkey liver that was still on the floor. “We’ll keep the conversation on pilgrims and Indians and inevitable bloodshed between them on which this country was horrifically founded on.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Around noon (which happened to be when Historia got her lazy butt up) was when the tables were all set up, as well as when Dalia gave Ymir a call.

 _“Hi baby!”_ Sasha could hear Dalia’s voice from the receiver. _“Daddy and I will be there soon to help you out. You girls’ doing okay?”_

In typical fashion, Ymir had managed to let out a, “It’s going well,” just as the smoke alarm began blaring.

Abandoning her eavesdropping, Sasha ran over to the oven and ripped the door open, letting a larger puff of smoke assault her in the process. Eyes slightly stinging and her lungs falling into a coughing fit, Sasha reached for a rag to pull out the turkey and threw it on the counter tops, burning her wrist in the process. Not entirely sure whether or not one should use a rag to try and put out flames, Sasha did so anyway before Mikasa yelled at her. “Don’t feed the flames with oxygen!”

Well, Jesus, what the hell else was she supposed to do? “Do I throw water on it? I didn’t think you were supposed to do that.”

“That’s for grease fires!”

“The turkey’s got grease on it, all foods do, right?” The smoke alarm was still going off. “For fuck’s sake, someone rip the batteries out of that thing, I know there’s goddamn fire!”

 _“Fire!?”_ Dalia screeched on the phone, upturned and left on the counter while Ymir was dealing with the smoke detector. While Sasha and Annie fought to keep the smoke to a minimal and Historia opened up the windows in the apartment to air things out, Mikasa picked up the phone. “We’re fine, ma’am. Small fire, but it’s been put out.”

“Well, almost,” Annie hissed, just as Sasha slapped the last flame away with a wet rag. Score.

Dalia’s voice, loud as it was, still didn’t allow for Sasha to pick up on the rest of the conversation she had with Mikasa. But after a few moments, Mikasa said, “I’ll ask,” and tilted her head towards the kitchen. “Did you ruin the turkey?”

Sasha stared at the dry-as-hell turkey with its charred outer edges and overall all unappealing status. “No,” she lied, just as Annie grunted out a “Yes.”

Goddamn it.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mikasa said quietly into the phone. “Uh-huh…No, No….Yes. We all do like honey baked ham. Yes, I can eat it.  That would be very helpful, ma’am. Thank you. Goodbye.” As Ymir tossed the smoke detector to the ground, Mikasa handed her back the phone. “Your mother is bringing us a honey baked ham as backup.”

It definitely sounded better than their ruined turkey. “Oooh! I can’t wait,” Sasha gushed, already picking at the turkey to see if it any of it was salvageable. “We’re going to have a real mom in this house!”

“It’s about time,” Annie agreed. “The place could use a motherly touch.”

“Um, this place has been nothing but motherly since we adopted _the stray,”_ Ymir comically pointed her finger Mikasa’s way; calmly, Mikasa went over and bent it back until Ymir let out a yelp.“Ow!”  Grumbling, Ymir went over and snatched her tequila off the fridge. “To aid in injury,” she offered pathetically.

“That’s only applicable for cuts.”

“It’ll still numb the pain,” Ymir smirked, taking a swig. “Wake me up when my mom gets here.”

“Ymir!” Historia admonished as she wandered drunkenly to their bedroom.  “Don’t take a nap, you don’t need one.”

“Night, babe!”

There was a knock on the door.

At first no one moved. Realistically, they were expecting someone to knock on the door eventually, but not so _soon._ It had to be someone else, right? They were just on the phone…

“Ymir, open up, it’s Dad!”

Aaaaaaaand, that would be a no.

There was a loud crash of whatever was breakable in her room (read: some alcohol bottle) as Ymir _jumped_ into her bedroom for a quick change of clothes. “Shit, I hadn’t even showered yet,” she cursed, throwing on a pair of leggings and one of Historia’s sweaters and combed her hair with her fingers. Her dad knocked again and Ymir seemed to be desperate to make her appearance presentable before she answered the door; Mikasa eventually got impatient and let them in. “Hello,” she greeted kindly.

Sasha had met Ymir’s parents once before, and in an instant she was struck with their familiarity. Dalia was darker skinned than her daughter, but looked almost amazingly just as young; she could pass as her sister. Victor was much older, his skin a sign of his mixed French and Moroccan ancestry, freckles not as abundant and beard speckled with silver hairs.  

“Oh, look at you!” Dalia gushed, taking both of Mikasa’s hands in hers. “Look at you,” she repeated, softly, fondly. “The infamous, Mikasa, is it? Did I get it right?”

She laughed lightly. “Yes, you did, Mrs. Poisson.” Mikasa had obviously been practicing Ymir’s almost offensively French surname.

Dalia and Ymir visibly made the same disgusted face. “No need to be so formal, baby girl! Especially you and I, considering,” she nodded to her stomach. “Pregnancy suits you well. That baby of yours is going to be gorgeous.”

Mikasa’s cheeks tinted a faint pink. “Thank you.”

“We got the ham, Mimi!” Victor smiled. “We figured you’d girls might have some trouble.”

See, Sasha wasn’t entirely sure why they thought in a house of five girls not one of them would be able to cook, but then she recalled one tale in particular. “Ymir! You told her about the time with the lasagna, didn’t you?” she whined. “I swear, the fire department wasn’t even that mad!”

Sasha heard Dalia’s laugh before she felt it rumbling in her chest as she collected her in a hug. “It’s good to see you, baby,” she whispered.

She smelled a whiff of perfume—amber—in the crook of Dalia’s neck. “I honestly didn’t think you’d remember me.”

The next thing Sasha knew, Dalia was holding her face in the palms of her hands, wiping away tears Sasha didn’t realize she had been shedding. “A beautiful young soul like you? Unforgettable!” she shushed her gently. “Don’t you worry. I’m here now. We'll get this party going, have no fear!”

For some reason, Sasha felt inclined to explain. “Sorry. Smoke in my eyes. We…burned the turkey.”

Dalia laughed. “Yeah, I know. I could smell it from three blocks down!” she joked, clapping her hands together and rubbing vigorously. “Now before we get this show on the road,” she opened up her arms and gestured for Ymir to step into her arms. “Get on over here, sweet girl.”

It was odd seeing Ymir so soft around her parents. As much grief as they seemed to cause them, Ymir’s frustrations always came from the fact that she couldn’t live _up_ to her parent’s legacies, and that become obvious. There was a light in her eyes as she barked out a laugh and hugged her mom, burying her face in her hair.

“What about me?” Victor laughed as he finished greeting Historia. Ymir tugged her father by the lapels of his coat and pulled him into a hug as well, reaching on the tips of her toes to smack a kiss to his scratchy cheek.

The hug ended when Dalia sniffed loudly and asked, “When was the last time you washed your hair?”

Sasha laughed loudest.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, and Sasha could successfully say she didn’t even know someone could have this many family members alive at one point, much less have so many in one room.

First off, there was the Poisson family: Victor, his parents Michele and Rene, his brothers Abel and Germaine, and _their_ kids Lily, Andre and Olivier. Second, there was the Lahlou family, which consisted of Dalia’s _five siblings (_ Maya, Elisa, Sara, Sofia and Dalia’s twin brother, David) and a bunch of other people whose names Sasha couldn’t remember if her life depended on it.

For a while, Sasha didn’t suspect that Ymir would have any trouble keeping the conversation off something as boring as the American education system. Along with _tons_ of amazing food, Ymir’s family brought along with them enough interesting stories to last weeks. Not all, but most, could speak English, and those who couldn't had someone easily translated for all to understand. In only a few minutes time, Annie and Mikasa had become particularly engrossed with Lily’s tales of swimming for the French Olympic team two years ago.

“I saw you,” Annie had declared, the most excited Sasha had seen her in weeks. Annie had done so well in keeping her promise of not getting hurt during her matches that Sasha forgot how nice it must have been to be able to talk sports to someone else. “I saw you swim! You got the bronze for something. 100m…” Annie trailed off.

“Breaststroke,” Lily finished with a smile. “Quite a miracle to pull that one off, let me tell you!”

“You were amazing. You went from fifth to third in those last 50m. That’s a hard thing to do,” Mikasa offered, to which Annie gave her a stunned look. “I did have other interests before I got pregnant, Annie,” to which Lily laughed.

“Yeah?” Lily had the same twinkle Ymir had in her eye whenever she was happy. “You like to swim?”

To all of their surprise, Mikasa nodded. “Yeah, I was on the high school swim team. I wanted to swim in college but…”she pointed to her stomach and Lily let out another laugh.

“Don’t worry, happens to the best of us,” she winked and pointed to Ymir’s mother. “Aunt Dalia got knocked up when she was like, what? 21?”

“20,” she corrected, and Sasha understood why she looked as young as she did. “And it was a conscious decision.”

Victor smirked. “Was it? If I recall, our wedding was a bit _rushed.”_

“That’s the story I stick to!” she laughed.

Sasha was still hung up on the swimming. “I thought you said you did Taekwondo?”

Mikasa nodded again. “I did. I didn’t do it for very long, though. It was hard to keep up after I was put into foster care.” While everyone else looked a bit uncomfortable, Mikasa appeared unbothered as she took a bite out of her stuffing. “Swimming was easier, especially since one of my foster parents was a former college swim coach,” she shrugged, looking at Sasha when she saw she was a bit confused. “The ones I lived with before I moved in with the Yeagers.”

Yeager….that name sounded really familiar. Then it hit her.

Her father’s doctor was named Yeager.

It was probably just a coincidence. There were probably tons of doctors named Yeager. It was probably the most common goddamn name in Germany. But something still made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Probably the fact that this was America. But it was a melting pot of people. But still. “What,” she cleared her throat when her voice cracked on the one word, “What did the Yeagers do?”

Sasha’s question almost got lost in the chatter of the other half a dozen conversations going around the tables. “Hmm? Oh. Uh, one of them was a chef.”

So far so good.

“Her husband’s a doctor, though.”

Mother _fucker._

Again, she tried to keep her voice low, to keep the conversation between them. “What _kind_ of doctor?”

Sasha felt a hard kick to her shin from under the table; when she looked up Ymir was playing with the carving knife of the turkey, her face a tell-tale sign of _“Onay octorday alktay”_

But it was too late. “Ah! That reminds me!” David bellowed from across the table.

Oh no.

Ymir took a long, _long_ swig of wine.

“Aren’t you going to medical school?” Sofia asked.

Ymir took a _longer_ swig of wine.

“No, no…” Her grandmother but in, “I thought she was going to law school.”

Ymir took a “seconds away from alcohol poisoning” swig of wine.

Dalia, who was sitting next to her, bumped her shoulder lightly, causing some of the wine to dribble down the edges of her lips. “Honey?”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Ymir didn’t bother to cover up a large belch before she simply answered. “Ah. Yes. That.”

This was the part where Sasha was supposed to jump in. To spit out some trivia about anatomy or blood types or hell even say the word _Deoxyribose nucleic acids_ just to sound something remotely medical. But her brain was all messed up thinking about doctors and her dad and Pixis’ missed phone calls and her goddamn coin flip odds to a normal life that she was too distracted. She couldn’t tell is she was shaking if she was nervous or if this was another symptom, and she swore on every cell she had she was going to cry if someone made her talk.

But that was what Historia was for.

“Ymir studies law now,” she said slowly, and when Sasha followed Historia’s eyes to see who had reacted in surprise, they both seemed to notice Dalia and Victor thought that the correct answer. Score. “It’s very interesting. She’s told me all about it. She’s studying entertainment law, isn’t that right, dear?”

Ymir was still sipping on wine, although she had refilled her glass. “Yes, that’s…right.”

Historia smiled. “I’ve glanced in her textbooks. I didn’t know copyright had so many facets!”

That seemed to spur a conversation between Historia and Rene which was enough to prevent Sasha from having a panic attack and allowed Ymir to down half a bottle of wine. So you know. Good.

Until there was a knock on the door.

Sasha jumped up at the opportunity to open the door, more than elated for a small escape from the table of people to take a breather and maybe get a glass of water, or a knife to stab herself with.

Wow. Her self-deprecating humor was pretty bad these days.

Opening the door, she expected another one of Ymir’s aunts or a cousin or even some neighbor who lived down the street from Dalia 12 years ago.

But not Pixis.

“Granddad!” she screeched loud enough to turn a few heads inside. Her grandfather opened his mouth to say something so naturally she slammed the door in his face before he got the chance.

Smooth.

“Who’s that?” Annie asked.

“No one.”

“Your grandfather’s here?” Historia asked.

“Uhhh, no?”

“Let him in.” Mikasa demanded.

“Mikky—“

“Let him in.”

“Give me a second!” she barked, ripping the door open and putting on a bright (most likely fake-looking) smile before she gave Pixis a gentle push and led the two of them out into the complex’s hallway, shutting the door behind her. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, voice soft, as if she were afraid Ymir or Annie had their ears pressed to the door, listening.

Pixis held up a pumpkin pie. “You were ignoring my calls. How else was I supposed to know you were alive?” he teased, not looking the least bit bothered about having the door slammed in his face or being pushed into the hallway. Too nice of an old man.

“Sorry,” Sasha grumbled, shuffling back and forth. “I was busy.”

“Hmmm,” Pixis hummed, clearly not believing her but really, who would? “I never got my visit, you see, so I thought I’d come down and see you.”

All at once it sunk in that Pixis didn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with. No one but her and Ivan. Guilt crept up like a fast tide. “I’m sorry, Pixis.”

He smiled her favorite smile, worn skin crinkling like leather around his eyes and mouth. “I know, my dear. It’s fine. I’ve just been…worried.” That last word was rather stern and Sasha had a feeling she knew what was coming next. “You see, I spent the early morning with your father. We got to talking. Naturally, you came up, as you always do.” More guilt. “He mentioned something that happened about two months ago.”

Oh, no.

“Alexandra,” he whispered. “I know it’s scary. But you need to let the doctors do their tests.”

Nope. No, no, and no. Not today.

In an effort to deflect, Sasha took a few steps forward, mindful of the pie in his hand, and hugged him fiercely. Pixis smelled of tobacco and licorice. “We can have a proper talk about this later,” she promised. “But can we _please_ not mention this inside? The girls…they don’t know about that. I don’t want them to know unless they have to.”

She felt Pixis sigh before he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Sounds good to me. You have my word, I won’t mention your father or his illness.”

“Thank you.”

Upon opening the door back to the apartment, Sasha found that while none of them had their ears pressed to the door, they were all staring across the open floor right at the door, clearly curious as to why Sasha’s granddad was here.

“So everyone this is my grandfather, Pixis,” he held up his hand with the pie in greeting. “I hope you don’t mind, he’d going to be joining us for the rest of the evening.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Dalia declared.

“Delightful! Please, sir, take my seat!”

“What would you like? I’ll fix you a plate!”

Ymir’s family was very warm to Pixis—Ymir included. She probably was viewing him as the Christ and Savior Jesus himself after straying the conversation away from doctors and lawyers, but like all good things, about fifteen minutes later, that came to an end.

“So Ymir,” her grandfather asked, “Why did you decided to switch from medicine to law?”

Sasha was _really_ starting to worry about the amount of alcohol she was consuming. “Oh, I dunno,” her words were heavy but still pretty clear, but to Sasha’s trained ear she heard the slight slurring—and that was always a dangerous sign that she was close to passing out or throwing up. “Don’t like blood, I guess.”

One of her cousins laughed. “Hah! Then why choose law? Lawyers are all bloodsuckers anyway!” and that earned a few laughs from the tables.

Ymir tried to join in the laughter under the guise of a glass of wine. Sasha was seconds away from ripping it away and giving her _anything_ else to drink, but luckily Dalia did it for her. “Mimi, I know you can drink like a sailor, but I never thought I’d see the day when you outdrank David,” she laughed nervously, and Sasha could hear the motherly worry in her tone.

“Oh, she’s fine!” someone declared. “She’s still sitting up, isn’t she? David on the other hand looks like he’s about to fall face front in those mashed potatoes.”

“Hey!”

And so it went. Every time the conversation would be put on Ymir, it would get deflected, but eventually it would come back to her. And after half a dozen times, answers were to be expected. And after half a dozen times, mothers got suspicious—and Dalia wasn’t an exception. “Baby, are you sure school’s going okay? You aren’t too stressed are you?”

“Not about school,” Ymir mumbled, only loud enough for her mother and Sasha to hear it.

“Well, I know it’s tough,” her mother continued, “But we’re very proud of you. It’s not easy to do as well as you have been in school. Just a few more years and who knows! Maybe Daddy can get you a job at his law firm.”

“That’s right!” Victor confirmed. “You’re going to do great things.”

Ymir looked positively green, her skin a pallor caught between ill and already dead, but she was too drunk to either run to the bathroom or even pass out right then and there. “Ymir, are you okay?”

“M’fine,” she mumbled.

Her other relatives took her uneasiness as worry for her future as a lawyer. “Don’t you even stress it,” Sara explained, “You’re going to have a great job waiting for you when you get out there. Someone who is as brilliant and hardworking as you? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

A hand flew over Ymir’s mouth. At first Sasha thought she was going to vomit (and honestly, maybe she did, just a little) but then when she looked carefully, she saw her choking back a sob. “Ymir,” Dalia said gently, rubbing her back. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, opening her mouth slightly to bite on her forefinger.

It was too much for Sasha to handle. It hurt to see Ymir like this: drunk and scared all the time because she didn’t want to admit to her family that she never wanted the same things as them. Maybe she was being a hypocrite, something Pixis would surely attest to later, but quite frankly these days, Sasha loved a lot of people more than she loved herself, Ymir most definitely included. So she opened her mouth and said, “Ymir, maybe you should just tell them.”

She shook her head fiercely, trying to kick Sasha from underneath the table, but she missed. “Tell us what?” Dalia asked softly.

“Sasha’s right,” Historia mumbled. “This has gone on far too long.”

“What’s going on?” Victor asked.

“Ymir?”

“Are you okay?”

“You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“What happened?”

“Is it school?”

“What’s wrong?”

Ymir slammed her both hands on the table.

“I’m not in school!” She screeched, and Sasha’s heart broke—Ymir’s eyes were cloudy, her words slurred. She was so drunk, she might not even remember this conversation come morning.  “I’m not in school! I dropped out! I hate it. I couldn’t handle it. So now,” she stood up and stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing the last bottle of unopened wine. Sasha lost count how many glasses she’d had. “Now I’m a bartender. That’s all I do. I make drinks, I collect drinks, I spill drinks on my fucking apron and I just _drink._ That’s all I am. A loser.”

“Ymir,” Historia cut in, “You’re not a loser!” She sounded like a broken record, devastated that she had to keep reminding Ymir of her worth.

“Honey,” Victor whispered. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Why didn’t I tell you?” she screeched. “Why didn’t I _tell_ you? Look at all of you! Lawyers and doctors and filmmakers and athletes and CEOs and dancers and scientists. You all made it! Every family’s got a bozo, and that bozo turned out to be me.” At this point she was crying, and in Sasha’s opinion it was the worst kind of crying. Screeching and sobbing with Ghibli tears was easy to deal with—blame it on the alcohol, blame it on a burst of anger. But Ymir’s cheeks were dry, save for one tear that ran down her cheek and under her chin from glossy eyes. Her lip quivered slightly and she looked _broken._

“Ymir.”

Stumbling into the cabinet, Ymir waved them off. “Save it. Just save it,” she managed to push past everyone, bottle in hand, and make it to her and Historia’s bedroom, where she promptly locked the door with a loud “click” that resonated throughout the apartment.

Pixis, confused and uncomfortable, held up his pie. “Uh, anyone like pumpkin?”

 

* * *

 

“She’ll come out of her room by morning,” Dalia promised as she tied the sash on her coat. After the disaster that was Ymir’s dinner confession, the party kind of took a somber tone and everyone focused on polite conversation until the food was gone and they could go home.

“I’m really sorry,” Sasha apologized for what was probably the twentieth time. “I had no idea it was going to be so…” the word, whatever it was, died in her throat.

Dalia though, was warm and gentle as always as she cupped Sasha’s cheek. “Not to worry. Wasn’t your fault,” she said as Lily waved goodbye, leaving only Dalia and Victor to linger in the kitchen. Pixis had left a while back, with promises to call her later this week about _that._  “We’ll give Ymir a call in the morning, okay? Make sure she drinks plenty of water and all the sort,” she nodded off to the bedroom where she’d stormed off about two hours ago. “She’s gonna wake up feeling pretty shitty.”

Sasha exhaled loudly. “Tell me about it.”

“Make sure she picks up the phone, okay?” Victor instructed softly, timidly. “We’re not angry with her. We only want to help. We’ll be back up later this week and take her out to lunch, talk a bit.”

“We love her very much,” Dalia added, as if Sasha hadn’t already figured that out. “Please tell her that. “

“I will,” she smiled, opening the door for them. “Drive safe.”

As soon as she shut the door, Sasha spun on her heel and collapsed against its frame, sliding to the bottom of the floor. “God, what a day.”

Mikasa was looking particularly tired as she cleared the table. “Go to bed,” Annie demanded softly, just as tiredly. “We’ll handle it.”

Without even arguing, she threw a hand up in thanks and shuffled to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Historia and Annie tried clearing the table in her absence, but they looked worse for wear as well. “Both of you, go to bed as well,” Sasha demanded, forcing herself to stand back up. At their questioning stares, Sasha explained, “I don’t mind cleaning. I’d kind of like to have the time to sort out my thoughts. Alone.”

With a tug to Historia’s sleeve, Annie led her to her bedroom. “Come on, you can sleep in my bed with me tonight.”

“’kay,” Historia mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she followed. “Thanks, Sash.”

“Night.”

And just like that, the kitchen went from 30 people to one, and she was eternally grateful. Filling up the sink with soapy water, Sasha started the task of washing off crusty pans and putting away enough leftovers to feed them for at least a week.

It took over an hour and by the end of it, Sasha realized she hadn’t done much thinking or sorting out of the kind. All she was able to hone in on was “Pixis knows I’m sick” and “Well, I might be sick” and “Ymir’s is definitely sick right now,” and everything added up to _sick sick sick_ to the point where she wanted to throw up.

It wasn’t late, only 11 o’clock, when Sasha decided that mopping the floor three times was good enough. The entire time she had been deep cleaning (the kitchen, the living room, everything she could get her hands on really) Ymir hadn’t stepped out of her bedroom, not once, which was really _really_ weird. After all that wine she had to have at least needed to take a piss.

Deciding she’d face the wrath if that’s what it came to, Sasha knocked on Ymir’s door. “Ymir?” she called soft enough to not wake Historia and Annie, but loud enough to hopefully be heard. “Ymir?”

No answer.

She couldn’t explain it but something wasn’t…right.

Pulling a bobby pin out of her hair, Sasha stuck it in the door and tried to pick open the lock. As cliché as the whole thing was, it had worked for her in the past, especially when she needed to break into the high school janitor’s closet at night when Rico accidentally locked it up.

It took a few times, but the door finally unlocked, and Sasha opened the door with apprehension. “Ymir? It’s just me. Your parents left.” The room was dark so she braved flicking the light switch only to find that her bed was empty. “…Ymir?”

Then, on the far side of her room, Sasha spotted a small tuft of brown hair on the ground behind her bed.

_“Ymir!”_

 

* * *

Sasha hated going to the hospital, and this was no exception.

After finding Ymir unconscious in a heap of her own vomit next to her bed, Sasha didn’t hesitate to call 911. The whole conversation with the operator was a blur and she just remembered being thankful that Ymir hadn’t choked, that she was still _breathing,_ but regardless, she was still in bad shape.

Sasha had tried to call her parents when the four of them got to the hospital. At that point it was a little past midnight, and she assumed they were sleeping. She called 5 times and left three voicemails before she stopped and promised to try in a few hours.

And now it was 5 am, Ymir was in a hospital bed, sleeping, her stomach pumped. The doctors allowed one of them to stay in her room until her parents arrived, and the other girls didn’t try to tear Sasha away from Ymir’s side; not even Historia.

“Idiot,” Sasha said fondly, reaching over to scratch at Ymir’s greasy hair. Her mom was right about her needing to wash it.

Ymir always seemed to be aware when she was being called names, even unconscious. She stirred slowly, taking her time to open her eyes. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck indeed,” Sasha agreed, her voice hoarse and caught in a laugh of her own relief. “You messed up.”

She looked around. “Goddamn, am I in a hospital?”

“Uh-huh. You got your stomach pumped. Severe alcohol poisoning.”

Ymir winced. “Ew.”

It was quiet after that as Ymir closed her eyes again; Sasha thought she had drifted off to sleep again, but she tried anyway. “Ymir?”

She answered. “Yeah.”

“This was really scary,” Sasha whispered, leaning closely so their arms touched. “You hadn’t come out of your room. I had to pick the lock and check on you. If I didn’t….If I waited until _morning…”_

“I’m sorry,” Ymir whispered. 

The beeping of her vital signs was mechanical and cold, just like the touch of her skin when Sasha found her. She hated it. “It has to stop.” She didn’t know what else to say. Not right now. But she started with the truth. “I love you,” she croaked, and she felt the wave of tears come crashing down on the dry surfaces of her cheeks. “Please don’t do this anymore. Please,” she sobbed, leaning forward to rest her head in her lap. 

She felt Ymir put a weak hand on her head. “Sshh,” she said softly. “Don’t cry. I’m alright now. Everything’s fine.”

 _That_ made Sasha angry. “It’s not fine!” she sobbed, lifting her head to meet her eyes—Ymir’s were still closed. “You’re in a hospital! It’s not okay! It has to stop. The drinking…it has to stop.”

She didn't answer for the longest time, and that scared her. Sasha was afraid Ymir might have been too far gone, uncaring if she drowned her potential in booze until one day someone didn't get to her in time. But eventually, she answered, because in the end, Ymir never let her down.

“I know. It will."

It was a promise. It was a start.

About twenty minutes later, as Sasha was starting to doze off in the chair that would leave her with quite the crick in her neck, the door to Ymir’s room opened and Dalia and Victor stormed in, worried and relieved all at once.

“Ymir!” Victor sobbed, running over to kiss his daughter.

“Hi, Daddy,” she whispered, and Sasha felt like she overheard something far too personal. Ymir never called her parents by anything other than their first names.  Figuring they needed a few minutes to sort things out, Sasha heaved herself out of the chair, wincing when she felt, like, every bone in her back crack. She intended to slip out without acknowledgement when Dalia tugged on her arm.

“Sasha,” she whispered, her eyes glossy, and Sasha decided she’d seen enough crying to last the rest of the year. “Thank you. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it from here.”

She looked over and saw Victor whispering into Ymir’s ear and decided that they’d be the ones to finally get through to her. As much as Sasha wanted to help her, she wasn’t equipped. She was barely equipped to help herself. Historia was going through an identity crisis, Mikasa was knocked up, Annie was fighting fighting fighting and Sasha was sitting on the the possibility of a death wish. Ymir needed someone…a little more stable. They all did.

And as Victor leaned down to kiss Ymir once more, she knew that she would be taken care of just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH. I know this took a really long time, I apologize. School got really hectic. There should be four more chapter + an epilogue if I don't make things longer than they should be. I know this is a bit of a monster in size, but I felt like Ymir needed a good long spotlight before we start cleaning up Annie, Mikasa and Sasha's messy lives. I also hope that no one was surprised by Ymir and Historia's blooming relationship. Since it's told through Sasha's limited POV I wanted to show how sometimes you're not always in the know about ~everything~ especially when you're as distracted as she is. The couple that sorta kinda come out of nowhere but no one's really that surprised? Yes? No? Oh, well. 
> 
> The next chapter will be entirely focused on Eren and Sasha's relationship (platonic, no worries) and should be about half this size, so hopefully it'll get done quicker! She'll be getting a little more information!! piece by piece! One day she'll put this mess of a puzzle together haha. Don't be afraid to address any questions, I know there's a lot of information in here. Thanks!


	12. my neighbor totoro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a jigsaw puzzle of dramatic proportions

_December 19th_

“Stop glaring at me,” Annie finally groaned after about three minutes of pure glare-filled silence on Sasha’s part. She stood leaning against the doorway of the open bathroom watching Annie break promises and crush what little bit of sanity Sasha had left.

“You got _hurt.”_ Sasha emphasized, pointing at Annie’s bloody knuckles she was currently washing out at the sink—she’s pulled the stopper up and the hallowed bowl of the sink filled with dingy, rust-colored water from the fresh blood that oozed from her cleaning out her wounds. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Annie reached into the side drawer and pulled out a long strip of bandages. “The deal was I don’t go the hospital,” She waved her hands around. “This is hardly worth going to the hospital.”

She started wondering what other injuries Annie must have slipped by in the past few months during her fights. “How’d you do it?”

Breathing out a laugh, Annie blew her bangs out of her face and stared down at her knuckles, carefully wrapping the bandages. “My fault. Last night, I had this girl pinned to the ground and I was trying to get her arms so she couldn’t throw a punch and I accidentally punched the ground. Hard enough to scrape them, not hard enough to break them. Not a big deal.”

“Rookie mistake,” Sasha meant for it to sound more like teasing, but it sounded far more serious, so she added, “As punishment, can I cover your bandages in fairy lights and other items indicative of the Christmas spirit you despise so much?”

“You’ve not given much of us any of a choice,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh. Even the bathroom smells like corporate gimmicks.”

“Eucalyptus.”

“Whatever.”

Walking back out into the living room, Sasha admired her handy work that had transformed their apartment over the past two weeks into a Christmas wonderland—garlands, fairy lights, poinsettias, other holiday themed memorabilia. Historia had even wrapped a few presents and put them in the corner, under the tree. Well, the invisible tree. That was the last thing on their list. Which, granted, was probably the most important part. “Are you gonna help me go get a tree?”

“As much fun as it sounds to drive an hour away to some out of the way farm to cut down our own tree,” Annie sighed, “I don’t have time, unfortunately. I have a double shift at the coffee shop tonight.”

Sasha pouted. “What? Nooo! You were the last one! Everyone else is busy. Ymir’s got that AA thing, Historia’s got class , Mikasa’s working!” She looked up at the clock in the kitchen and already saw that it was almost noon. “Who’s going to help me get a tree?”

Annie shrugged. “Get one tomorrow.”

Unbelievable.

“You all have been saying that for two weeks. Christmas is in less than a week. If we don’t get one and decorate it tonight, there will be _no_ point. Which is not good. Our last two holidays were fucking train wrecks. I want Christmas to be good!”

Annie snorted and filled a cup with water at the sink and chugged it. “I don’t believe in Christmas miracles.”

Sasha moaned, as her phone rang in her pocket; she pulled it out and saw a text message from Moblit asking if she could pick up a desk shift at the vet clinic that afternoon. “Here, here, here. Look,” she shoved the phone under Annie’s nose. “Look. I have the day off. I don’t have another day off until Christmas Eve. If I take this shift, we will never get this tree.”

“Give me that,” Grabbing the phone, Annie sifted through her contacts. “I’m asking Mikasa if they still have Christmas trees over at the greenhouse. Maybe she and Marco can help you lug one back up to the apartment.” She handed the phone back, screen back open to her conversations with Moblit. “ _After_ work. Take the shift.”

“Ughhhhhh,” Sasha threw her head back as she snatched her phone, sending Mobilt a text that she’d be there soon. “Why.”

“Because otherwise, you’ll mope in your room and do nothing.” Annie snapped, collecting her bag off the kitchen and nodding towards the door. “Come on, I’ll drive you. I’ve got Bertl’s car.”

“Mope? I don’t _mope_ ,” She argued, but she grabbed her things from her room regardless.

Annie grabbed a hair tie off her wrist and threw her hair in a messy bun. “Sasha, if it weren’t for all the made for TV Christmas movies on ABC family, I’d hate to see what you’d be doing. You’ve been acting funny ever since Thanksgiving. Well, more so than usual.”

“Funny how?” Sasha mumbled, regretting the answer before she even asked the question.

Arms still up and fiddling with her hair, Annie hesitated. “…Sad.” She said eventually. “You just seem so jaded, even Connie’s shows don’t cheer you up very much anymore. Did you have a fight with your grandfather?”

Even with Ymir’s alcohol poisoning fiasco taking most of the drama quota for Thanksgiving, Sasha couldn’t seem to hide her problems with her grandfather. As promised, Pixis came back over a week later to discuss her…situation; and it did not go well. There was a lot of yelling. And storming out of restaurants. And crying. Granted, _she_ did all that, but it was still ugly.

Probably because she told him she was never getting tested.

Pixis hadn’t called her since.

“I did,” she said honestly, because she didn’t see any point in hiding it. “But it’s nothing that won’t be resolved once the both of us cool down.”

Annie yanked the door open with extra emphasis. “Uh-huh,” she said skeptically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sasha scoffed, picking up her stride to get to the elevator.

“Bullshit.”

“Annie!”

“Well, it does.”

 

* * *

 

Annie’s idea was a good one; work brought in a happy surprise near the end of the day.

He ripped open the door against brisk winter winds, but instead of the cardboard box he had come in with before, there was a dog tucked underneath the sleeve of his puffy green coat. “Hey,” he greeted, teeth chattering as he gave a wide grin. “Got a new friend for you.”

“Shut _up!”_ Sasha squealed, leaning out of her chair and making grabby gestures with her hands. “It’s adorable, where did you get it?”

Eren unzipped his coat and covered the puppy from the head down, trying to warm it up. “I found him. He wandered on our grounds a few days ago. Mom fed him and he didn’t really leave. Thought I’d take him in for a check-up and stuff before everyone starts shutting down for the holidays.”

Sasha almost skipped from behind the counter to greet him, prying open the lapels of his coat to get a better look at the dog. “Huh. Looks like a mix.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Eren commented, scratching the dogs head. “Pitbull and…something else.”

“Probably a lab. It’s a couple months old,” Sasha decided, “But I’m not sure. Moblit might be able to tell.” She scratched the dog behind the ears as it tried to move its head around to lick at her wrist. “Oh, he’s so sweet.”

Eren grinned again. “He is. A bit shy, though. Gets skittish around people. But he’s nice.”

“Oh, he seems to be doin’ alright,” Sasha said softly, laughing when the dog licked the palm of her hand. “Does he do alright around other animals? The cats?”

Eren blew out a long breath, “Oh, he loves those cats. Especially Totoro. He’s also pretty fond of the pig, the goats—“

“Whoa!” Sasha said a little too loudly out of surprise. “You’re building a real farm over there!”

He laughed again. “Oh, yeah. It’s getting a little crazy. Actually, my mom wanted me to ask you about…building a chicken coop.”

She squinted. “A chicken coop?” she repeated back slowly.

“Yes,” he elongated. “Chicken coops. With chickens.”

“Preferably,” Sasha grinned.

“Preferably,” he repeated, rolling his eyes fondly. “My mom and I are really fixing up the land. Mom’s  working on a garden and a greenhouse for vegetables. She wants a few chickens for fresh eggs. So. Thought I’d ask you?”

Sasha’s grin faded into a soft smile. “Because I’m a vet, or because I was a farm girl?”

He looked unsure, like it was a trick question. “Uh, both?”

“Fair enough,” she shrugged before snatching the puppy from his arms and heading to the back where she knew Moblit was twiddling his thumbs with no appointments. “I will help you, on one condition.”

He sighed, probably from recollection of the last favor she asked of him. “What?”

“I hope you don’t mind pine needles in the bed of your truck.”

 

* * *

 

The door to the office in front of the greenhouse rang when Sasha stepped through the door. “Hello~!” She sang, hoping that Mikasa was still working. Instead, Marco popped his head out from underneath the front desk, wearing his normal bright smile; it was perkier than usual when he noticed the small dog on a leash in Eren’s hands.

“Heya, Sash!” Marco greeted, walking over and crouching in front of the dog to pet it, “I’m guessing you’re here to get a tree?”

“That’s the plan.” She looked around, frowning. “Where’s—“

“Petra sent her home,” Marco said quietly. “She wasn’t feeling too well.”

A million alarms went off in Sasha’s head and her hands felt clammy. “What’s wrong? Is she okay? Do I need to take her to the doctor? What—“

Marco chuckled lightly, raising his hands in surrender. “Relax, she’s okay. I just think it was a bad day. Everyone has them, you know?”

Sasha accepted that answer, only because it came from a fellow worrywart like Marco. She gestured to the dog. “Do you mind if he’s in here?”

He shrugged. “Fine by me. Just make sure he doesn’t eat any plants or makes any messes, and it should be okay.” He waved the two of them to the back. Trees aren’t in the greenhouse, they’re outside in the back.”

“You go on ahead,” Eren told her, picking the dog up to carry it in his arms. “I’ll come over and help you carry whatever tree you pick, I just want to look at any heathers they might have.”

“Oh, sure!” Marco chirped. “Yeah, we got ‘em. They’re this way, follow me.”

They went their separate ways, but not before Sasha nabbed the dog from Eren’s clutches. Once outside and the dog had a little more freedom on the leash, she pulled her phone out and dialed Mikasa; she picked up on the fourth ring. _“Hello?”_

“Mikasa? It’s me! I came to visit you at work, but Marco said you were sent home. You okay?”

A slight pause as she yawned. _“Yes, I’m fine. Business was slow and I was tired, so Petra let me go home. I’m about to take a short nap and then I was going to cook dinner for everyone.”_

Ugh, too nice. “Don’t do that if you don’t feel well.”

 _“Just a big bucket of chicken noodle soup, nothing too taxing. I’m sure I’ll feel better once I get some sleep.”_ Sasha heard the sound of the sink running. _“You getting a Christmas tree?”_

She let the dog, still nameless, wander and sniff at the trees. The selection of trees was small, both in number and in size, but they looked healthy, so that’s all that mattered. Besides, smaller trees were easier to carry up and down apartment stairs. “Yup.” She surveyed the third row, trying to find the healthiest looking one. But what she told Mikasa was, “I’m looking for one that’s phallic in nature, I think it’ll really go with our decorum.”

Surprisingly, Mikasa actually laughed at that one. _“Aren’t they all a bit phallic?”_

She sputtered, swallowing a gross-sounding laugh. “Are you insinuating that all trees look like dicks? Because now I’m afraid to ask what your dildo collection looks like.”

 _“Okay,”_ Mikasa sighed, and Sasha couldn’t help the ugly laugh this time when she heard her embarrassment. _“Just…pick out your stupid tree. Try the very back one, I told Marco to try and hide one for you to pick up later. I thought it looked nice.”_

“So, like a dick?”

_“…I’m going to take a nap now.”_

“Sorry! Sorry!” Sasha squeezed in before she could hang up. “I was just teasing. Get some rest!”

After she successfully completed the task of stuffing her phone back into her pocket and simultaneously preventing the dog from taking a piss on the inventory, Sasha further impressed herself by finding the perfect tree, just as Mikasa had pointed out. Standing at about Annie’s height, it wasn’t all that tall, but it was still nice, and it would be the first time in ages that she had a proper Christmas tree. “Eren!” She yelled. “Come help me!”

The boys ended up doing most of the heavy work while Sasha held on to the dog, as well as a potted plant that Sasha recognized as a winter flower—looked like the boy had done his research.

“For your mom’s garden?” Sasha asked, adding her small tree with a few other plants Eren had selected.

“Yes, but,” he raised a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret. I want to surprise her.”

“How are you going to surprise her?” Sasha asked, attention divided between him and the dog in her lap as she climbed into his truck. “Gardens are hard to hide.”

“I told her not to look behind the shed!” Eren laughed, shaking his head as he got in and started the car. “So, do you want to see what I got so far?”

Sasha looked behind her at the tree as they pulled out of the lot. “Don’t you want to drop me off first? I’d hate for you to drive back here.”

“It’s only a fifteen minute drive.” He shrugged. “I’ve got plans to have dinner with someone back over here anyway, so I can just drop you off then. I mean, if you want to see the place, that is.”

The puppy yipped in her lap, and she scratched behind its ears. “Oooh, got a hot date?” She teased, lifting the puppy up to his cheek when he was at a red light; it licked him, and he made this amusing noise of surprise.

“No, nothing like that. So?”

It had been a long while since Sasha had been on a farm and truthfully, she missed it. There was a strong possibility that the familiarity of the environment could bring back…suppressed memories or whatever, but she figured that was just the bullshitty part of psychology talking. Besides, it was a risk worth taking in order to all the animals he boasted about. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Sasha noticed about Eren’s home was that he wasn’t kidding about it being in the boonies.

The trip up his driveway was probably three minutes in itself, and Sasha could already tell what kind of land it was used for before they moved in; pastures for horses, most likely, with a small field for growing a few vegetables. “Thinking about getting horses?” Sasha asked quietly, forehead against the cold glass.

“Hadn’t considered it yet,” Eren answered just as quietly, parking the car outside an old Victorian styled house with a wraparound porch.

The land was fenced in so he let the dog loose just as the front screen in door wobbled and shook. “Oh, honey, good you’re back, I was—“ The woman stopped short and smiled wide. “You brought a friend!”

Sasha looked over and saw Eren’s cheeks were stained pink, and it probably wasn’t from the cold. “Aww, does Eren not have many playdates?” She teased, pinching at his cheek. He slapped her hand away before jogging up the steps and kissing his mother on the cheek.  “Wow,” Sasha breathed, taking a bit more time to make it up the steps; she didn’t want to find out if they were icy. “You’re like, a carbon copy of your mom.” Which was ridiculously true. The only big difference was her dark brown eyes compared to his much lighter green ones. Also, genitalia and whatever.

His mom laughed. “Isn’t he lucky?” She pinched at his cheek, but he didn’t swat her hand away, only whined like a small child. As Sasha met up with them on the porch, his mother stuck out her hand. “I’m Carla, it’s nice to meet you. Sasha right?”

“You talkin’ about me?” Sasha gushed, shaking Carla’s hand. “Oh, isn’t that sweet.”

“You’re his only friend,” Carla whispered, as if Eren wasn’t standing _right there;_ he looked mildly annoyed, but not enough to say anything about it. Probably because it must have been a very harsh truth. Well, not harsh. Sasha was all the friend anyone really needed. “I can’t wait for him to enroll at the university come spring semester so he can perhaps make a few more.”

“University?” Sasha cocked a brow. “I thought you said you were doing police work.”

“Dad isn’t too fond of the idea,” Eren admitted slowly, “But I’m still working on the pitch. I’m sure I’ll come out on top in the end.”

Carla rolled her eyes and ushered the three of them into the warm house. “Eren needs direction. I told him he’d probably be better off with a bachelor’s degree first. He could even do criminal justice, if he likes.”

Eren gave a breathy laugh as he unwound his scarf and hung it up. “If it’s direction you want, I could always dig up that childhood dream of joining the military.”

Carla’s gasp was more than amusing as she smacked him upside the head. “Don’t you even joke, son.”

“I like your mom,” Sasha laughed when Eren went to rub at the damage to the back of his skull, mumbling about how, “yeah, you would.”

They headed to the kitchen and Eren took the initiative of putting on the kettle. He watched as he pulled out a kitchen chair for his mother and quietly asked her if she had remembered to eat lunch, frowning when she said she hadn’t been hungry. “You got to eat, mom.”

“I do, I do,” She waved him off before looking at Sasha across the kitchen. “Do I look sick to you?”

Eren answered for her, which honestly, might have been true, but it wouldn’t be something she said. Who even commented on women’s appearances?  “You’ve lost weight.”

“I’d call that an accomplishment,” Carla winked at her, but the whole situation felt like laughing off a problem that couldn’t be laughed off.  “Well, I’m hungry now,” she appeased, “Why don’t you cook?”

He rolled—he eyes, his shoulders, the sleeves of his jumper—and opened the pantry of their large kitchen. “Hmm, fine. What would you like, Sasha?”

The thought dawned on to her that she wasn’t very hungry these days, either. She looked at her own skin and wondered if she appeared thinner or paler to her friends. “I probably shouldn’t. My roommate is making chicken soup tonight.”

“That keeps,” Eren said coolly, already pulling out boxed noodles for what was probably pasta. “I won’t take too long. Mom? Why don’t you show Sasha where you want the chicken coop? She said she’d help us.”

She didn’t really say she’d help, but the truth was she totally would. Carla rolled her eyes and jabbed her thumb at her son. “This kid. Who’s the parent here, can you tell?” But she winked nonetheless before she got out of her chair grabbed two thermoses of tea and headed to the front door again. “It’s right behind the shed—“

“Mom!” Eren whined. “Not funny! Stay out from behind the shed!”

Carla laughed, and Sasha managed a small smile as well at their antics. “Geez, so dramatic. Come on, sweetie.”

His mother led them out the front of the house and then around to the side, where there was a small square of land outlined with stakes and ribbon, but otherwise looked just as much normal and cold as the rest of their grassy land. “Well. There it is. Where we’ll put the chicken coup. If Eren can manage it,” she laughed lightly, most of it getting caught in a shiver from the brisk wind. “You know,” she said, moments into a brief silence. “He was just trying to get me out of the house.”

Sasha snorted, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She really needed to invest in some gloves, her hands were freezing. “That might work better when it’s not freezing cold out.”

“He means well,” Carla said quietly, kicking lightly at one of the stakes in the corner of the square. “I don’t know how much he told you about…about losing—“

She winced in the anticipation and hoped she hadn’t noticed. “He didn’t really go into it, but I can tell it was hard. You don’t have to tell me.”

“His whole life right now is things like this,” and Carla nodded to the designated chicken coup. “He’s repainted the shed twice. After rebuilding it. He’s dug up the garden, fertilized the land. He’s trying to put together a greenhouse. Takes care of all the animals that come by. He even cooks all the meals. I used to do that. He’s the one taking care of me now.” She sighed. “He’s doing a better job of raising himself than I ever did.”

“No,” Sasha said quickly, her breath tumbling out in a shiver. “No, don’t say that. The only reason he can do all that is because you taught him in the first place. He obviously loves you very much.”

Carla snorted, her lips twisting in a wiry grin. “I lost my daughter,” she told her and something in Sasha’s heart lurched. When Eren had talked about losing someone, Sasha had imagined a grandmother or a close aunt. It never occurred to her that he could have lost someone as close to him as _his sister._ She wondered if his sister looked like his mother too, before she died. “Which yes, was very hard. I try to talk to him about it,” Carla continued, “But he just buries himself in work. Takes long drives. He won’t say a word about her.”

“It’s hard,” Sasha said before she caught herself, and Carla’s hair blew into her mouth as she turned her head. “I can’t talk about it with anyone,” Sasha admitted quietly. “and it’s been _years.”_ Eight since her father left. Eight years since she’d seen him. Months of ignoring that she could see him again, if she wanted. All in all, a lot of wasted time. “I just,” she shook her head, wiped a tear that was threatening to spill over. “I can’t do it.”

“He still calls her,” Carla whispered, trying to sound lighthearted. She started to walk over to the porch and reached out for Sasha, grabbing her arm and hooking it with hers. “She’s obviously never going to pick up, but he still calls her. Leaves her messages. I don’t know what he’s saying. I wish he’d tell me.”

“Maybe one day he will,” Sasha stared at the stairs as she climbed up the porch and wandered over to a porch swing that Eren probably built over the last few months. They fell into a small silence as the sky grew dark; eventually, icicle lights that were apparently on a timer lit up on the roof. “Did he put those up too?”

“No, I think that one was actually my husband,” and it was nice to see Carla’s smile return. “He’s actually got quite the Christmas spirit, when he’s not burying himself in work. Like father, like son.”

A few minutes passed before Eren interrupted Carla and Sasha’s conversations on whether or not they would get a white Christmas. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Did you cook the noodles al dante? “ His mother asked and Eren moaned, throwing his head back into the partially open screen door.

“ _Yes,_ Jesus _Christ,_ you ask me that all the time!” He moaned again, stepping out of the way to let the two of them in. “You should go back to being head chef if you want to boss people around again.”

“Watch the tone,” Carla scolded, but Sasha could tell there wasn’t any real malice behind it.

The table had already been set and he had even gotten the dog back in the house and set up on a pillow to take a nap in the corner of the kitchen. “Mom can cook a lot better than I can,” Eren admitted, pulling out his mom’s chair _and_ hers. Jeez. Carla thought she was a bad mother? This kid was polite as hell, even if his potty mouth didn’t match his actions. “She used to be a chef at a restaurant and everything before…” the screeching of the chair legs filled his pause. “…before we moved.”

“One day,” Carla sung, folding her napkin in her lap and digging into her pasta. “Smells good, baby.”

“Thanks,” Eren grunted, tapping at Sasha’s plate. “Go on, you first.”

She took a bite: it wasn’t particularly flavorful, but everything was the right consistency and right temperature, so it was good in her book. “Much better than I do, that’s for sure.” She thought back to the disaster that was Thanksgiving. “I hope I don’t burn the meal this time around. I totaled the turkey a few weeks ago.”

Eren grinned slyly. “You totaled a turkey? Do tell.”

“I burned it in a big fire, what’s to tell?” Sasha felt something sit on her feet and paw up her shins. Looking down, she spotted a familiar and adorable face. “Aww! It’s—“ Shit. What was the grey cat’s name? Toyota? Tater Tot? “…Guillermo del Toro?”

Eren almost choked on his pasta. “No,” he sputtered, trying to swallow both his food and his laughter. “No, it’s Totoro.”

Close enough. She plucked a noodle from the top of her plate, drizzled in sauce and tried to offer it to the kitty. “He’s like a dog,” Sasha laughed. “I’ve not really seen cats beg.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Carla cooed. “Loves to cuddle up every night. He’s Eren’s favorite.” The cat licked at the pasta, but didn’t really eat it. Guess there was more fun in the chase. “Although, I could make do with him not chewing on the damn ribbon on the presents under the tree.”

“All cats like ribbon and string,” Sasha commented, her tone a little flat from focusing on the cat. “Not much you can do about it.”

“Speaking of which, did you father’s present come in the mail?” Carla asked Eren while Sasha wondered if it would be appropriate to put the cat in the chair next to her. She did it anyway.

“Yeah,” Eren nodded, taking another bite, “I haven’t wrapped it yet, but it’s in my room, so just make sure he doesn’t go in there for whatever reason. I should get to it late tonight.”

Sasha not-so-discreetly put the cat in her lap and began kissing its head. “Are you going over to see that guy?”

His mouth was still full. So much for total and complete manners. “Yeah, after I take Sasha home.” he wiped his mouth with the napkin and took a sip of water. “I’m going to cook him dinner.”

Putting the cat back on the floor, she figured she might as well finish dinner before it got cold. “Oh. Are you going to a nursing home or something?”

Eren paused, glass midair before he shrugged and set the glass back on the table. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it is. Dude’s pretty sick and he gets lonely, so I visit him.”

“You should get him something for Christmas!” Carla explained, like the idea suddenly struck her. It probably did. “Oh, I could make him some cookies—“

“I already got him something,” he admitted, “But I’m sure the cookies would be nice, too.”

“What about you, Sasha?” Carla asked, “Got all your Christmas shopping done?”

In fact, Sasha did. Well, at least most of her Christmas shopping was done: she bought Historia a sweater that looked all stylish and girly and right up her ally, she got Ymir a book of virgin drink mixes (hah) and on a more serious note, bought her a pair of nice studio headphones that she was giving with Annie, and for Annie herself, concert tickets for her and Bertl to some band they both liked. She even ordered Connie a ring made out of a few Canadian coins that…probably was too romantic of a gift for what they were, but, fuck it, it was cool so that’s what she got him.

The only person left was Mikasa.

“I have one roommate left,” Sasha whined, kicking her feet back and forth like a child underneath the table, “and I have no idea what to get her!”

“Well, what’s she like?” Carla pressed.

How to describe Mikasa. “Oh, she’s really nice. But real fussy. She fusses over anyone and everyone. Which I guess isn’t a bad thing, but she doesn’t really put herself first. She likes to keep herself busy...”

“Buy her a jigsaw puzzle,” Eren offered, mouth full of pasta; Carla wacked him for talking with his mouth full. “What?! It’ll keep her real busy, that’s for sure.” He paused. “Oh, dude, is this the ah, pregnant chick?”

“Yup,” Sasha confirmed, smacking her lips together in a loud popping noise.

“Maybe you should give her a cat,” Eren teased again, grin wide and with a little basil stuck between his teeth. “It’ll teach her to get ready for a baby, right?”

While the joke was terrible, the cat suggestion…really wasn’t all that bad. “Actually,” Sasha blinked. “She likes cats. I mentioned the kittens you brought and she actually got a little upset I didn’t have any pictures.”

“If you really think she’ll want one,” he nodded behind him to where Totoro was playing with one of the other kittens (Papaya, Pumpkin, whatever one it was) “You can take one.”

The idea, while spur of the moment, sounded better and better with each passing second. “Cats are very therapeutic,” Sasha recalled the conversation about him and his mom from a few weeks back. “Maybe it would keep her stress down until her pregnancy is all done.”

“Stressed?” Eren asked, brow furrowing. “She’s stressed?”

“Like I said, she’s a worrywart. And the rest of us…haven’t exactly been making the most stress free environment.” Sasha felt guilty. “She’d never outright say she was stressed or worried, but I can tell.”

“Sounds familiar,” Carla mumbled fondly, and Eren stiffened. Must be his sister.

“In that case, you should give her Totoro,” Eren declared, finishing off his pasta.

“What? No! That one’s your favorite.”

He shrugged. “So? He’s my favorite for a reason—he’s the friendliest. You’ll want a real friendly cat around a baby, and I know he won’t cause any problems. Besides, if he’s with you and all your roommates, I know he’ll have a good home.”

“This is truly a Christmas miracle,” Sasha whispered, “Are you really giving me this cat? I don’t have to go to the mall or anything?”

Eren smiled and tipped his cup her way. “You got it.”

“Hah! Annie can eat her words.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it.”

“Alright, now that that’s settled,” Eren hastily wiped his mouth with the napkin again and got up from his chair, leaning down to kiss Carla on the cheek. “I’m gonna go drop her off and then go cook that dinner. I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Okay,” Carla smiled. “Have fun.”

“Come on, grab the cat and let’s go. I hope your tree isn’t dead or anything.”

Kitten in hand, Sasha tried her best to hide it in her coat as she ran outside to his truck. Once he got it all started and running, she took it out and he mewled at her, rubbing it’s head against her fingers. “Wow. This is the chilliest cat ever.”

“Told you,” Eren said smugly, one hand on the wheel while he used the other to reach over and pet it as well. “Now, one condition: you have to keep the name.”

“Del Toro?”

“Sasha.”

“Totoro, I got it, I got it. What’s that from, again?”

“Ah,” his voice went up a bit, “It’s from a movie. It was our favorite, growing up.”

It slipped out before she remembered, “Our? Who—oh. Got it.” His sister. The car was filled with a terribly awkward silence, so in attempts to relieve it, Sasha asked, “So, who’s this dude you’re using to fill out your community service ours?”

“Har, har,” he sneered, and Sasha snickered, “No, he’s just this poor, sick dude. He’s got something awful, and no family to take care of him. Sucks.”

“Cancer?”

“No,” Eren said slowly, his face indicative of him trying to pull the fact out of his brain. “God, I can’t remember what it is he has. But it’s like. Chronic? I dunno. That’s not the word, but all I know is it sucks, and he needs a lot of help.”

Sasha pictured an old man in his nineties needing help walking to the bathroom. “Must be pretty old if he’s got no family left.”

Eren shifted in his seat and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Actually, he’s not really all that old. Um. Hell, I don’t think he’s even 45 yet. And he does have family it’s just….oh god, it’s so shitty, Sasha.”

He pulled off the highway and onto the exit where the campus was. “What? What is it?”

He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself; Eren was angry. “He’s got some kid, but she won’t come and see him. It’s terrible. He talks about her all the time, acts like she hangs the stars in the sky, and this..." he sucked in loudly, "... _girl_ won’t even answer his phone calls.”

Sasha blanched.

There was no _way._

…Right?

“What….” She swallowed, trying to clear her voice. Thankful that Eren’s eyes were on the road, she looked down and noticed her hands were shaking something fierce. “…What was her name?”

That “thinking” look crossed his face again. “He said it a few times…Shit. Alexis? Anastasia?”

“Is this dude a Romanov?” Sasha joked, but it sounded terribly flat on her part. Eren didn’t notice.

“No, but….it _is_ Russian,” he announced, pulling up beside her street. “Ah, I know!” he turned the key off as he parked the car. “Alexandra!”

Oh, no.

Sasha ripped open the passenger’s door, jumped out of the truck, and puked in the street.

“Oh my God!” That wasn’t Eren’s voice, but Historia’s, who apparently just got back from picking up Ymir at her AA meeting and had made it just in time to see that lovely spectacle in the streets before she headed up the stairs to their complex. “Sasha? Sasha!”

She didn’t know how she could tell it was her in the dark; it must have been the scent of disaster. Or the street lamp. But probably the scent of disaster. Eren jogged around the car and helped her off the ground; somehow she had managed to collapse into a mess beside her puddle of vomit. “Shit, are you okay?”

“Fine,” she mumbled, wiping her hand with the back of her mouth. A few seconds later she felt Ymir grab her by her other arm and she and Eren hoisted her up to her feet. “Sorry, I got a little car sick.”

“You look terrible,” Ymir mumbled, putting the back of her hand against her forehead. “You got a bug or something?”

“No,” she looked to the open door of Eren’s truck and saw Totoro hadn’t seized the opportunity to escape. Slowly, she trudged over and picked up the cat, bundling it up in her coat, which luckily had no vomit (Her hair? Not so much). “Could you and Historia possibly get that Christmas tree? It’s not that big.”

“You got it,” and Ymir and Historia went over with Eren’s help and got the tree out of the bed of his truck.

“You want help carrying it up there?” Eren asked.

Ymir shook her head. The tree really wasn’t all that heavy. “We’re good dude. Besides, you parked in a red zone. Hate for a cop to come by and you get busted.”

Eren looked down and frowned, just as the two of them lugged the tree up to the apartment. “Shit, I hadn’t noticed. Damn, I need to get some glasses. Well,” he turned to Sasha, who was still standing a bit of the way into the street, and lead her over to the sidewalk. “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you need to see a doctor? I could help you out.”

“Help me out?” Sasha mumbled, trying to concentrate on how cute the cat was and not how nauseated she was.

“Well, yeah. My dad’s a doctor, remember? How else do you think I met these patients? They’re his.”

It all hit her at once.

_“She was a chef. Her husband’s a doctor though.”_

_"I'm Dr. Yeager."_

_“My mom used to be a chef at a big fancy restaurant.”_

_“I ran away.”_

_“I lost my daughter.”_

_"Alexis? Anastasia? Alexandra!"_

_“You fucked your foster brother, didn’t you?”_

Holy fucking shit.

This could not be happening.

Dizzy, Sasha swayed and almost collapsed onto the sidewalk, with only a parking meter as her saving grace. Eren was quick to grab the cat from her hands. “Come on, let me help you up to your pla—“

“No!” Sasha yelled, so loudly that Eren’s eyes almost fell out of his head. “I mean, no. I’m fine.” She grabbed Totoro and stuffed him under her coat. “I can make it. I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”

“You sure?” He asked skeptically, but she was already at the door to the complex.

“Yeah. Thanks…Eren.” His name suddenly felt like acid on her tongue. Then again, maybe that was the actual acid from her stomach.

She didn’t know how, but somehow she had managed to make it up to the front door, only to knock and have it be violently swung open by Mikasa, who looked (guess what) worried. “Ymir said you puked in the street! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine _now._ I puked.” Ymir laughed from the living room as she tried to set up the tree. Sasha reached into her coat and pulled out the well-tempered kitty, which had not made much a fuss throughout this entire ordeal. “I got you an early Christmas present.”

Mikasa blinked a few times, clearly surprised, before she finally accepted the cat. “We’re not allowed to have pets in the apartment,” she noted, but by the way she snuggled the cat to her chest, Sasha knew she didn’t mind breaking the rule.

“Do you like him?” Sasha asked softly, just as the cat started purring.

“Yes,” Mikasa answered just as softly. “I do. Thank you. What’s his name?”

“Totoro.”

Mikasa’s eyes widened. “Really? I didn’t think you’d heard of that movie. It’s my favorite, you know.” She told her, turning her back to go show Ymir and Historia.

“Yeah,” Sasha whispered to no one. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was kinda somber, but it had to be! Hope the information revelation makes up for the lack of jokes it normally has. Next chapter will take longer than this, that's for sure, because it's /THE/ confrontation of the century at a New Years party. The confrontation you all have been waiting for.


	13. paulie bleeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which violence isn't the answer, but it certainly is satisfying

_December 31 st_

Sasha had never been more excited for a new year in her entire life.

While there were definitely good parts of the last year (meeting all her roommates, finally getting to work at a vet clinic, having Historia buy her a box spring for her mattress so her back didn’t feel like that of an 80 year old woman) there were definitely cons (uh....everything else).

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but it was no lie that some of the glaring negatives, however few there were, still managed to outshine a lot of the positives. Untrue to her original goal, Sasha had _not_ done an adequate job in trying to hide her health problems which stemmed from her family strain; the result had been catastrophic, if slow erosion could be considered a natural disaster. While none of her roommates never really pressed on the matters, she knew they noticed: Historia mentioned her smaller frame, Ymir told her to get more sleep for the bags under her eyes, Mikasa left chocolates on her bed when she heard her crying in the shower, and even Annie invited her to the gym with her to try and spark some more energy. All their efforts were politely turned down and Sasha focused on what she did best: spending a lot of time in her room sipping on Ymir’s abandoned alcohol reserve and binge watching Netflix.

This shit needed to _go;_ starting with a killer New Year’s Eve bash.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Ymir commented, smiling while she stared in the bathroom mirror as she curled her hair. Sasha really couldn’t argue from her place on the closed toilet lid where she was painting her toes.

“Yuuup!” she declared, smacking her lips forcefully together to make the word pop. “I’m super psyched for the new year.”

Her grin widened, only to be replaced with a hiss when she accidentally touched the hot curler to her ear. “For the new year in general, or for this party?”

Sasha waggled her eyebrows. “Both. I can’t wait to drown this year’s problems in a bottle of champagne.”

From Historia’s bedroom, she heard muffled complaints paired with Annie’s grumbling from being stuck with one too many hairpins. “We promised we’d be sober! For Ymir!” Historia whined, acting like a four year old whose dad broke his promise to take her out for ice cream after dinner.

“Um, _you_ promised that. I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Sasha challenged, and Ymir laughed, screaming when, again, she burned herself on the iron. “Dude, have you even used one of those things before?”

“ _Have you even used one of those things before_ ,” she mimicked mockingly before she focused on the other side of her hair, still needing curls. “So. You looking for a repeat of Halloween?” she teased, but two could play at that game.

“Nah, I was thinking I’d try to top your Thanksgiving game."

“SASHA!” Historia chided, shrill shout almost covered by Annie’s painful grunt when she must have been stuck again with one of Historia’s hairpins.

Ymir, on the other hand, was laughing her ass off, and raised one of her hands for a high five. “Nice one.” Sasha met her hand with a forceful slap. “But just remember, my previous alcohol game was _on point._ Trying to top it could lead to unwelcomed side effects. Like jumping off a roof. Or death.”

Sasha grinned before she blew on her big toe (because that totally speeds up the whole drying process). “I’m two for two. That’s a 100% success rate. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Your sample size is too small,” Ymir pointed out, “I’m fairly confident that science and common reasoning will prove the next time you try that stunt you’ll end up with a broken leg. Minimum.”

“Oooh, statistics. You studying up for your big college re-debut?” Besides her AA meetings, Ymir also agreed to give school one more shot, taking a few classes of what she wanted, as opposed to what she thought her parents wanted.

“Shut up!” Ymir barked, pushing a laughing Sasha off the toilet seat and inevitably ruining her nail polish _god fucking dammit._

“Mimi!” Sasha whined, only to earn another forceful shove, this time to her face. “Noooo! My nails looked so good, now they’re ruined.”

“Why does it even matter? Are you planning on wearing open toed shoes? It’s 40 degrees out.”

Oh. Right. She had forgotten.

Ymir went back to curling her hair; she was almost done. “Man, you might be in a good mood, but you’re still as spacey as ever.” She paused, staring at her before she almost threw the curler down on the counter and crouched next to her, getting a whiff of her breath. “You sly dog,” she mumbled, mouth curling into a slow grin. “You already started drinking.”

Sasha quickly stuck a finger to her lips. “Shh! I only had one shot.” Lies. She had two. But they were reasonably spaced out. “And I took it because I was cold.” She defended.

“Um, a sweater wouldn’t suffice?”

“Well, damn, what fun is that?”

Mikasa, whose bedroom was on the other side of the bathroom, pounded on the bathroom wall from the other side. “What!” Sasha yelled, too lazy to go over there and see what she wanted.

_“----phone----go----off”_

Yeah, she didn’t get any of that. “Louder!” Sasha yelled.

“ _\---your-----off”_

“Louder!”

_“Oh, hell,”_ Funny, Sasha heard that just fine before Mikasa emerged seconds later, hair disheveled. “Your phone is not on silent,” she called, crossing through the hallway and into Sasha’s bedroom. “And someone really wants your attention.”

“Connie?” Ymir said, hopeful. “Asking where you want to rendezvous for various sexcapades?”

“Okay, shut up,” Sasha blushed.

A few moments passed before Mikasa returned to the bathroom. “She’s right,” she nodded to Ymir. “Well, about it being Connie. I can’t speak for the sexcapades thing. He called you a few times,” and she handed her the phone.

Sasha did a quick evaluation of her appearance. “Why aren’t you getting ready yet?”

Mikasa opened her mouth, but clamped it shut, as if she suddenly realized something. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9.”

“….Oh. I guess I overslept.”

Ymir grinned. “I’ll say. I’m almost done with my hair and then we’ll scram so you can take a quick shower. I’m sure Tori will love to do something with your hair when you’re all done.”

On cue, Historia yelled from Annie’s bedroom. “Mikasaaaaaa!? Can I curl your hair too?”

“Sure!” she called back, just as Sasha hit the “call” button under Connie’s name.

He picked up on the second ring. _“Sasha! Ah, there you are, I’ve been trying to get to you forever! You haven’t left yet, have you?”_

“No, we should be leaving in about an hour,” she elongated the last word, trying to read Ymir’s hand gestures, “and a half?” Ymir gave a thumbs up. “Okay, yeah. Hour and a half, tops. Why?”

_“What are you planning on wearing?”_

“Why?” Sasha laughed. “You trying to make sure we don’t show up in the same dress?”

_“Obviously.”_ She could almost hear his smile over the phone. _“Also, just want to make sure I look as good as you. We’re going to be the best looking couple at the whole damn bar.”_

While they were definitely not dating, Sasha couldn’t deny that they weren’t a couple for at least this night—she had pretty much agreed to be his date. Everyone needed a kissing buddy for the New Year’s eve ball drop, but apparently, Mikasa would _sooooo_ rather kiss Armin than her, so she went with Connie. “Well, I’m currently ironing out my homemade Christmas sweater, complete with creepy hand-sewn Santa and custom sequins.”

_“Please tell me that sweater exists because I really want you to wear it.”_

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “How does a blue dress sound?”

_“Blue and what else?”_

“Uhh, just blue?” At his sigh, she added, “I have patterned tights!”

_“Take some fashion advice from Historia or Ymir.”_

“I’m a little insulted right now,” she mumbled, but she could be honest—her fashion sense wasn’t all that great. “But I’ll have you knew they pre-approved my outfit, so I shouldn’t embarrass you too much.”

_“Ah, there’s no way you’d embarrass me, even if you tried.”_ What was with that fucker always saying the nicest things? _“Okay, but one last thing. Do you want to exchange our Christmas gifts before midnight or after?”_

She absentmindedly tugged at the ring she’d bought Connie that she wore around her finger ever since it came in the mail a few days ago. It only fit her thumb. “If we wait until after midnight, wouldn’t it like…not be a Christmas gift anymore?”

_“Fine, we can call them New Year’s gifts. We can call them whatever you want. All I know is you’re going to lose your shit.”_

She suddenly felt self-conscious of her ring. “That good huh?”

_“Mmm. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Oh! By the way_ _. I just ran into Eren at the supermarket this afternoon. We bonded over deli meats and I told him about the party. So, he’ll probably be there at some point or another.”_

Shit. This was just ri- _goddamn-_ diculous.

 “Connie—“

_“Anyway, I gotta jet. I’ll see you there.”_

“No, no, no, wait—!“

He hung up.

“Fuck!” Sasha swore, nearly throwing her phone into the mirror in a fit of rage.

Ymir unplugged the curler and collected her make-up bag (read: Historia’s make-up) and without looking up asked, “What’s up?”

Mikasa however, was fixing her with a concerned stare. “Nothing,” Sasha sighed, grabbing a hairbrush off the vanity and tapping Mikasa gently on the top of her head. “Hurry up. We should leave in an hour.”

“Hour and _a half.”_ Ymir corrected, hustling out of the bathroom.

“Lazy piece of shit.”

 

* * *

 

As a compromise, they left in about an hour fifteen for the theater downtown where the party was. Above the theater was this low key, somewhat swanky, restaurant with killer views and outdoor patios for sitting and dining, as well as another bar. A pretty hipster place, Sasha could admit, but it was Ymir who had found it, and it was one of the few parties they thought they could bring Mikasa where a) she could get in simply by being 18 and b) it wouldn’t get too crazy.

But of course, if Eren showed up, her whole little plan would go right out the window.

Sasha had spent hours putting the pieces together, wondering how she went so many months without noticing. She hadn’t seen Eren since he dropped off her puke-covered ass at her doorstep so she hadn’t gotten the chance to ask him any questions (not that she wanted to) but the evidence seemed to fit. Mikasa had run away from Sina, Eren and his parents probably moved from Sina shortly after her disappearance. Mikasa had said she lived with a couple who were a doctor and chef.  Eren’s parents were a doctor and a chef. Their names were Yeager. Eren’s name was…….well. Actually, she didn’t know his last name. But it was probably Yeager.

Yep, It was pretty much set in stone. She was a regular Sherlock.

The most unsavory detail, however, was the fact that her father’s doctor and Eren’s dad were kinda _sorta_ probably the same person. His description of the man he was visiting matched up with Ivan (especially if his daughter really was named Alexandra). But one thing Sasha had on her side was that she was the only one with all the pieces. Mikasa had no idea Eren was here, Eren had no idea Mikasa was here. Everything was still a speculation and she could _keep_ it that way if she just…made sure those two didn’t see each other at the party.

Easier said than done.

“Why do you keep tugging me around?” Mikasa sighed after Sasha had dragged her by her hand to yet another part of the bar, away from Armin and Marco.

“Looking for Connie,” which was partly true, but she mostly was trying to put Mikasa in areas where she thought she wouldn’t be seen.

Mikasa yanked her hand from hers. “He’ll find us if we stay put,” she emphasized, which, yeah, was true and _she was totally ruining the plan._ “Besides, I could stand to sit down.”

“Is that a pun?” Sasha mumbled, but she caved and dragged out a chair for her to sit on; Mikasa held her hand up and pointed outside to the patio.

“Let’s sit outside.”

“It’s _freezing_ you nut.” Which, come to think if it, might be a good plan considering how many people probably weren’t out there. But she wouldn’t go as far as to make a pregnant woman freeze outside just to help along her plan of avoidance.

Mikasa pulled on her sweater. “I’m plenty warm. Just for a few minutes. I think you could use the fresh air.”

That much was probably true. Sasha was sweating up a storm (her blue dress? A velvet hotbox holding in all her fear and body odor), due to all her nervousness. This time, Sasha let Mikasa pull her through the small crowds to the outdoor rooftop without any verbal complaint, where they found Annie and Ymir already there.

“You guys roasting too?” Sasha asked, plopping on a high bar stool while Mikasa took a seat in a regular patio chair.

Annie nodded, pointing to her jacket and Ymir’s dress. “That’s what the two of us get for wearing leather.”

“Who decided we needed to be this warm, again?” Sasha complained, tugging at the sleeves of her velvet dress which clung like….well, velvet. If velvet clung. Did velvet cling? It was clinging.

“Historia,” Annie deadpanned, taking a sip out of a whiskey class of what Sasha assumed must have been water, if they really were doing the whole sober-buddy system with Ymir. Her suspicions were confirmed when Annie nodded her head to the bartender. “Don’t let us stop you. Go ahead and drink champagne if you want.”

Before Sasha could get in a word, Mikasa informed that, “She’s already been drinking champagne—oh my god, really?” she sighed, watching as Sasha called the bartender over and asked for her third glass.

“Let her have her fun,” Ymir waved her hand dismissively, sipping on a ginger ale. “Consider this one drinking one in my honor.”

“You better not get drunk like you did at the last parties,” Mikasa warned.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’m not! I promise! This is a much more sophisticated event.” She couldn’t get drunk anyway, if she wanted to be alert enough to make sure Mikasa never laid eyes on Eren. Her mind flashed back to the Halloween party where Mikasa spotted Eren and _freaked_ out. If all her suspicions were correct, she would do everything in her power to make sure that _never_ happened again. “I’m just drinking to keep myself warm like everyone else.”

Mikasa eyed her suspiciously. “I thought you said you were hot?”

“I am,” Sasha blurted out, tossing her a wink just as Annie pointed out that, “Drinking in cold weather actually leads to greater heat loss in the extremities—“

“Tipsy?” Sasha corrected lightly, taking a sip. “Relax! It’s the one time of year I’m going to drink champagne, let me have my fun, will you?”

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Annie asked, looking around, and if on cue, out came Historia, perfectly straight blonde hair glowing in the moonlight. There was a small, glittery hat that looked to be a cheap party favor in one of her hands, and a bunch of small pieces of paper in the other.

“I’ve got something for us!” she declared, setting the hat down on the table closes to them and plucking a pen from behind her ear. “Something to welcome in the New Year!”

Holding up her champagne class, Sasha informed that, “I’ve got the welcome committee right here, all the way from France,” which made Ymir laugh and Annie crack a grin.

Historia must have been in too good a mood to let the one drinker bring her down, so she went straight to passing around these little pieces of paper that…looked like confetti, even though it wasn’t small or metallic enough. She took the pen and handed it to Annie, who was closest. “Write down a resolution! I already did mine!” She showed them a piece of paper. “I’m going to work out things with my father. So, Annie?”

Annie’s groan was _adorable._ “Can my resolution be to… not do this?”

“Fine, but it’s for next year, so you still have to do it now.” Historia was smug when she wanted.

“Historia.”

“What? Come on! It’ll be fun.”

Funny enough, it was Mikasa who came to save the day. “At least write something down,” she shrugged. “A quote or a word to summarize the year. Like closure with what’s happened. Or write something you want to happen.” Another shrug. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s making peace with what’s happened and what’s to happen.”

“Sometimes, I swear, you’re like Confucius,” Ymir grinned.

“That’s racist,” Mikasa said flatly, reaching for a sip of Ymir’s ginger ale.

Annie seemed to like Mikasa’s answer enough. “Hmm. I’ll do it,” Historia gasped at her words, “But,” Annie continued, “I’m not sharing it with you.”

“Fine, fine,” and she patiently held out the glittery hat while Annie wrote a quick word or two down, folded it into fourths, and tossed it in the hat. “Ymir, your turn.”

“I’m an open book at this point,” Ymir shrugged, but she took a piece of paper and the pen anyhow. “I just want to drink a little less and try this whole school thing one more time. It’s been crazy, but I think it’s a good year coming.” She showed her paper, nothing but a smiley face, before she tossed it into the hat. “Mikasa, you’re up.”

She said nothing as she scribbled a few words on her paper; Sasha tried to lean over her shoulder to catch what she had written, but she couldn’t tell what it was. “My baby’s names, one for a boy or girl,” Mikasa explained after it had been folded and tossed in. “Or at least ideas.  _No peeking.”_

“Maaaaan, you’re so unfair,” Sasha pouted, just as Mikasa stuffed the pen practically up her goddamn nostril. “Shit. Um….”

“I’ve got a few ideas for you,” Annie said gruffly, and while Sasha tried to fix her a look that was positively sour, it was half-assed at best. “What? You’ve got some things to improve on.”

“That’s,” she took a long sip of champagne, “The understatement of the century.”

“Of the _millennium.”_

“Watch it.” Sasha stared down at the piece of paper, heaving a sigh. “I just hope I….feel better next year.”

“Then write that.”

What she said next surprised her; probably the champagne talking. “I don’t think it’s a realistic goal.”

Mikasa frowned, leaning forward; she saw her shiver a bit and made note to go back inside once they were done with this little stunt. “What do you mean?”

She tried to be vague as possible. “I can’t… _change_ some things. Some things are set in stone, and I can’t do anything about it. No one can.”

Ymir huffed, annoyed with Sasha's attempts to be _as vague as possible._  “Would you _please_ just tell us what’s wrong? We know something’s up, you can’t hide anything.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

When Ymir opened her mouth to argue, Annie reached up and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Save it. She’s in a pretty good mood right now. We can revisit later, when she doesn’t have so much access to alcohol.”

Man, Annie was the best. She drew a heart on her piece of paper and tossed it in, because really, a heart seemed to cover just about everything she was feeling these past few months; love, heartache and everything in between.

“Well, I have to pee,” Mikasa announced. “Which is nothing new. I’m going back inside.”

They waited until Historia tossed their little pieces of paper into the wind (which realistically probably landed on some people’s head on the sidewalk below) before they followed her inside. Annie managed to find her boyfriend again while still staying close to the rest of them. Sasha contemplated running to the ladies room just to make sure she could guide Mikasa to avoid any Eren sighting, but figured that might be a little much.

Until, you know, she saw him.

“Sasha!” She _saw_ Eren first, but she heard Connie as he walked across the low-lit party, a wide smile on his face. Eren, however, was a different story. His face was a bit unreadable, but not entirely unpleasant—he looked like he was thinking too hard.

“Hey, Connie!” Her voice was _way_ too high and was completely noticeable, evidenced by Ymir’s little snort from a few feet away.  “Eren.”

He waved politely, staring at Sasha expectantly when a short pause occurred. “Oh! Um, these are my roommates, Ymir, Christa, and Annie.”

“Historia,” Historia corrected, more puzzled than offended; Sasha hadn’t made a mistake all month.

“Right. Historia. Sorry.”

Eren smiled, looking more like himself. “Nice to meet you guys. Sasha’s mentioned you a few times.”

“Who is this guy?” Annie asked, leaning into Bertolt a bit, using his chest as support; she looked a bit tired since midnight was approaching in just a few minutes.

“He….visits the vet clinic a lot. He’s got a farm.”

Connie grinned. “Yeah man, Eren’s been telling me all about it. He’s got goats! Goats! I love goats. Their eyes are so weird.”

Something about goats. Sasha hadn’t caught all of it; she was too busy looking around for Mikasa. “Uh-huh….”

“Sash? You okay?” Sasha whipped her head around to find Connie looking at, head tilted in curiosity. Eren’s expression wasn’t too far off the mark either. “You look all…jittery.”

That was too kind an identifier. “Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” Connie seemed to at least get who she was looking for, which was so not what she wanted. Not what she wanted at all.

“Oh yeah! I saw Armin but where’s—“

Oh no, not if she had anything to help it. “BATHROOM.” Okay, that was _way_ too loud. “She’s. She’s in the bathroom.”

“Um…” Connie clicked his tongue. “Okay….”

There was a clock on the wall in big, digital numbers counting down the last minutes of the year. They were approaching the new year fast and if Sasha could just find Mikasa, drag her away from the party and claim….oh god, appendicitis? A seizure? A broken sense of self-worth? Anything to get her out of there? Then everything would be swell and she could apologize to Connie later and—

“Hey, Sasha—“

Oh no. She knew that voice.

No, no, no, no, _no._

She whirled around and saw Mikasa waddling over, her eyes trained on her sweater. “A button popped off my sweater, which really isn’t a surprise, but do you have pockets to…”

Mikasa lifted her head and all _hell_ broke loose.

Eren and Mikasa were looking at each other like they had just seen Jesus Christ walk out of his fucking grave. Her whole frame was shaking, his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his fucking head and everyone just watched wondering just what the deal was.

But Sasha knew. So she took her glass of champagne and downed it in one go.

“M-Mikasa?” Eren whispered, his voice as rough as sandpaper as his gaze kept darting between her eyes and her very round stomach. “Mikasa!” her name was much clearer the second time and he said it like an answered prayer. “Where have you _been?”_

Oh, fuck, he was _crying._

And Mikasa wasn’t saying _anything._

Connie took the first initiative to try and figure out what was going down. “So…I take it you two know each other?”

It was like he hadn’t spoken. Hell, it was like there wasn’t anyone in the room besides Mikasa when Eren took a hesitant step forward; Mikasa matched his stride with a step backwards, bumping into Ymir, who gripped her shoulders protectively. “How…why…” Eren shook his head, trying to make a coherent sentence. “Are you _pregnant?”_

“Are you _dumb_?” Annie sneered, teeth and all, making Bertolt appear a little nervous. Sasha was glad that while nothing was out in the open, the girls were clearly picking up that Eren was making Mikasa uncomfortable and that shit would _not_ fly.

Eren ignored Annie. “When did this happen? Who—whose? Whose is it?“

Mikasa opened her mouth to answer, and choked on the first word. “I—Eren…you know _exactly_ whose it is."

His eyes went wide. Bingo. "Mine?" He was finally getting it, that moron. “Mikasa!” Her name was heartbreak just to listen to. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

"Whoa, wait, wait wait just one second! _"_  Ymir screeched. "This guy? This guy's Paulie Bleeker?" Historia gasped at the declaration, and even Annie look startled. 

"What!" Eren shouted. "Who the hell is this Paulie Bleeker kid?"

"You, you fuck nut!"

Sasha didn’t like this. She didn’t like seeing Mikasa so timid, so _scared._ She wouldn’t make her talk to him. Not tonight, not like this. Sasha took a step forward, right in front of Mikasa, only 2 or 3 feet from Eren. “Leave her alone.”

Eren’s gaze looked past Sasha’s shoulder, still on Mikasa. “Is this why you ran away? Because...did you think….please tell me you didn’t think…?” He was trying to ask questions that wouldn’t get answered. “I would have _helped_ you. We could have worked something out. Why would you _think—“_

Mikasa whined. “Eren, please, you have to know—“

"No, Mikasa, I won't--"

Sasha cleared her throat. “Leave her alone,” she repeated.

Again, she was ignored. “Mikasa, you had us worried _sick!”_ Sasha could hear Mikasa sniffling from behind, plus some soft words from Ymir that she couldn’t make out. “You just left! Just a stupid sticky note to tell us not to try and find you! You had Carla thinking you hated her! Mikasa—“ He took a step forward and Sasha’s hand shot out, pushing him in the chest a few steps back.

“I won’t say it again,” Sasha said quietly, but with as much fierceness as she could muster. “Leave her alone.”

Finally, Eren’s eyes snapped to Sasha’s, his hurt and worry replaced with anger on command. “This isn’t any of your business.” He snapped.

“Oh, it’s not?” Sasha snorted. “She’s _my_ roommate. Has been for months. It’s us that’s been taking care of her because for whatever reason, she didn’t feel safe with _you."_  That one hit home, if Eren's crestfallen face was anything to go by. "So I’m here to tell you,” she took another step forward, making them almost nose to nose. “You aren’t going to mess with her. Not while we’re here. Not when I’m standing in front of you.” She left out the part where the three alcoholic drinks in her system were the only thing giving her this kind of nerve at the moment.

Eren still didn’t care what Sasha had to say; he tried to sidestep around her but Sasha gave him another shove. She heard Connie say her name warningly just as the last minute of the New Year began counting down. “She ran away for a reason, so back off,” Sasha continued.

That was not the right choice of words. At all. Something in his expression shifted. She recognized it as the gears in his head churning; his eyes became a little harder, a little colder.

He knew. And he was going in for the kill.

“She ran away for a _reason,”_ he repeated back slowly, and Sasha wanted nothing but to turn to dust right then and there. “Was it better than _your_ reason?”

“Shut up,” she snarled, clutching her champagne glass tight in her hand. “Don’t start. You don’t know shit.”

“What’s your name.”

“Eren. Shut up.”

“What’s your _name.”_

“I’m serious, I will break your fucking nose if you keep talking.”

“Sasha!” Connie admonished just as Annie whispered an “Atta girl.”

“Alexandra,” Eren said her name slowly, like uttering it was poison itself. “Alexandra Braus. Right?”

“Sasha, what’s he talking about?” Historia asked.

 Eren gasped, feigning surprise. “Oh? She hasn’t told you, huh? Well that’s okay, I’ve been talking to her dad, so I can fill you in on anything and everything.”

“What, that's impossible,” Ymir scoffed. “Your dad is missing..." She paused, thinking. "...isn’t he?”

She didn’t get a chance to come up with a lie. To be honest, she didn’t know if she even had the brain capacity to come up with any more excuses tonight. “He was,” Eren explained, eyes still completely locked with Sasha’s, “Until about three years ago.”

Sasha closed her eyes and hoped everything would just go away. “Eren, do _not—“_

_10!_

“I ended up asking him about his daughter. Showed me pictures and everything.”

_9!_

It felt like all the air was being sucked out of her lungs just as Mikasa whispered, “How long have you two known each other?” Sasha mentally touched on the thought that maybe Mikasa felt betrayed.

_8!_

Eren’s eyes briefly snapped back to Mikasa, but only for a few seconds because he saw the protective hold Ymir had on her. “Your dad is dying.” Eren told her, as if she didn’t know. As if she didn’t think about it every fucking day of her life.

_7!_

Tears bubbled in her eyes and her voice was raw, like she'd never used it. _“I know.”_

_6!_

“He calls you all the time. He’s all alone.”

_5!_

“He's alone!? You don’t _understand.”_ Sasha tried to think of an explanation that was short enough to explain, to be reason enough to get him to stop talking. “He left _me_ alone on the streets! Did he tell you that!?”

_4!_

Evidenced by the slight dilation in Eren’s pupils, she guessed that no, he hadn’t known that. But it still didn’t deter him. “He’s sick,” he said, voice finally without it's bite. “He was sick then and he’s sick now. And you’re…” He balled up his fists, anger flooding back.

_3!_

She squeezed the champagne glass so tightly in her hand, it shattered.

_2!_

“And you’re the piece of shit daughter who won’t visit him.”

_1!_

_Happy New Year!_

Sasha Braus kicked off the New Year by punching Eren Yeager in the face.

She used the injured hand with the glass in it to punch, since her right hook was the only thing worth a damn. She was hoping some shattered glass got stuck up his nostrils, but it was still satisfying to punch him in the nose regardless. Connie reached forward and restrained her immediately, just as she was trying to determine if that crack she heard was Eren’s nose or her own resolve breaking. " _God,_ that felt good," she declared loudly, shaking her hand a bit.

Eren stumbled back, clutching his face quietly, and Armin seemingly came out of nowhere to try and pry his hands away from his nose to check if it was broken like the good doctor-to-be he was. It didn’t look any different (Sasha wasn’t all that strong), but there was a little blood trickling out of his nostril. Eren didn’t appear _angry_ anymore per say, but he did look annoyed. “Jesus,” he cursed quietly, throwing his hands in the air in surrender. “I give.”

Even though realistically that’s what she wanted, she was still a bit unsatisfied with the results. “Don’t give up just ‘cause I’m a girl. Give it all you got, fuckboy!”

Connie’s hold on her almost became suffocating, his arms tight around her chest. “Sasha, enough!” he hissed in her ear. “You’re starting to draw attention.” He looked at her hand. “And I wouldn’t do that. Your hand looks worse than his nose.”

When she looked down she saw there was a long jagged cut in the middle of her palm to accompany some rather bruised knuckles; when she tried to cup her hand, she felt pieces of glass in the cut. She hissed in pain and blood trickled out to wrap stickily around her fingers. “I’m fine.”

Eren wiped his nose with the back of his hand, wincing slightly. “You’re not fine,” Eren grunted. “Ivan told me you won’t go to the doctor, even though my dad told you the risks of what you have.”

Sasha froze.

Connie, who was fussing over her hand, dropped it limply at her side. “Huh? What’s he going on about?”

Getting punched in the face really brought Eren down a few notches; his entire demeanor had changed, and he was a lot calmer despite the fact that what he was saying was enough to make Sasha’s blood boil. But she was too tired to hit him again. “Huntington’s right?”

No one seemed to know what that was, and Sasha had never been more thankful for a lack of education.. “Huntington’s?” Historia questioned, “Sasha, what's...?”

“It’s a genetic condition,” Mikasa whispered, and Sasha whirled around to face her. “Is that what’s been bothering you all these months? Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”

Ymir looked startled. “Whoa, whoa, what’s...”

In a last ditch effort to try and make everything the same, Sasha laughed; it sounded bitter. “Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Sasha—“

“He came to vet clinic with some feral cats. I think he caught rabies.”

“Sasha?”

“We might have to Old Yeller him.”

“Sasha.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pull the trigger.”

“Sasha!”

It was too much.

Wiggling out of Connie’s hold, Sasha broke free from the group and marched towards the outdoor patio without looking back; she put all her focus in not tripping in her goddamn wedges as she maneuvered through the crowds and eventually got to the ladder that led to the actual roofof the building. The ladder was a bit precarious looking, but everyone was too drunk to notice her pull it all the way down and climb up.

“Sasha!” That was Historia, but she didn’t dare to look down. Most of them probably followed her out. “Come down from there!”

“I got it,” That was Connie, and just as she reached the top of the roof, the surface uneven like pebbles or stucco beneath her feet, she heard the sounds of another person climbing the ladder.

She walked to the far end of the roof and sat down, careful to keep about a foot and a half away from the very edge of the building. When she looked out into the night, she spotted a few pretty looking decorations leftover from Christmas on a few bars downtown, but the biggest eyesore was a university parking deck with all the lights on a few miles down the road.

For the longest time, Connie didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even sit close to her, but she could feel his eyes on her from across the way. Not wanting to over think what just happened, Sasha focused on trying to pick the glass out of her hand, wincing when she had to peel back skin and dig uncomfortably in her wounds.

“No, don’t pick at it like that—“ She heard him sigh and she stopped. A few seconds later she felt him drape his jacket over her shoulders before he sat next to her, his knee knocking with hers. Yanking out a handkerchief from his pocket, he took her hand and put it in his lap and did a much better job of being gentle trying to get the glass out. “I thought kissing you would be the first thing I’d do this year but I got to say, watching you deliver a mean right hook was way more satisfying.”

“Hmm,” she hummed.

He stopped, dug through his pocket and produced a ragged old envelope. “Got your Christmas present.”

She eyed the ring on her thumb, the same hand that he had in his lap. “Same. It’s on my finger.”

Touching the ring he said, “This has got to be the _worst_ marriage proposal ever.”

_That_ made her laugh; when she turned her head, she saw him smiling at her, his eyes lit with mirth. “Here.” she slid the ring off and put it in his palm. “Take a closer look.”

The night didn’t allow for much light, but Connie still picked up on what it was. “It’s a ring made out of a coin! That’s so cool!”

Reaching under her dress, she tugged on the brown chord with Connie’s coin that she never took off. “I thought since you liked this thing so much…” she trailed off, not really knowing where she was going with it. “It’s a Canadian coin. To remind you of home.” She whispered. “I know that jewelry is kind of a, er, romantic gift, but I thought you’d really like it, so I just got one anyway.”

“Wow,” He sounded so awed, her heart swelled. “Thank you so much, Sasha.” He put it on before he brought his hand close to his face. “I can’t tell, it’s too dark, but what coin—“

Ah, her favorite tidbit. “It’s made out of nickels.”

“Nickels? Why—“ the realization hit him and she had to fight a laugh. “Ohohoho. _Very_ cute.” She giggled and Connie reached over and pinched her side before he plopped the envelope in her lap. “Alright. Open it up.”

She managed to rip the paper with just her right hand. Digging out what was inside wasn’t hard either, considering it was a much worn brochure, which upon further inspection, proved to be a map. Specifically, a map of Italy. “It’s….a map?”

He sighed, leaning back on his hands to look up at the starless sky. “Well, I would have put in the tickets like they do in the movies, but everything’s online these days so…”

Honest to God, she turned her head so sharply she damn near got whiplash. “Wait, what?”

Connie was wearing this stupid, stupid grin. “I did some digging around. Found us a little work. Cheap air fare. This summer, we’re going to Italy.” He met her eyes. “Sound good?”

This couldn’t be happening. “Get out.”

“I will. This summer. On a plane. To Italy.”

“Are you serious?!”

“I don’t consider myself a very funny guy, I don’t kid,” he teased, laughing, but he sobered quickly enough. “Yes, I’m very serious.”

“This is incredible. I can’t believe—how did you? When did you? This is so great! I just—“ she stopped cold when her mind started to slip out of fantasy and into reality. Her reality. “I don’t know if I can.”

To Connie’s credit, he was very patient. He didn’t say the first thing that was on his mind, instead taking the time to think over what he should say. “…is this about what Eren said?”

Sasha sighed. “That…might have something to do with it.”

Again, there was a long, drawn-out silence. “I really hate to pry, but I think it’s necessary.” Connie eventually said, his words still hesitant despite the fact that he had probably spent three minutes thinking them over. “What’s Huntington’s? Could you at least tell me that?”

She had stared at the Wikipedia page and other websites long enough to probably teach a class on it. And even though she didn’t want to talk about it, she could admit she was tired of keeping it all bottled up. So she decided to tell him. “It’s this genetic disorder that affects the brain. In the broadest terms.”

Connie nodded, taking everything in stride. “Can you tell me what happens?”

With a shaky breath, she explained, “It’s neurological?” It came out like a question, like she was still unsure. “Basically, it eats away at the brain. It affects everything….coordination, behavior, mood. It’s something awful. Eventually you can’t stand or walk or talk or….breathe. It’s slow and painful. It just…sucks.”

When she dared to look at Connie, her body wracked with a small sob—his eyes were glossy. She’d seen Connie look upset, confused and worried, but she hadn’t seen him look that sad. “You have that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s genetic. I have a 50% chance of developing it. I thought I had been cleared, but that’s not the case, so the last few months have been…rough.”

“Is there a test? Is it expensive? Invasive? Is it hard to come by?”

Not expecting that, Sasha blinked. “Oh, uh. No? It’s just some blood work.”

His brow furrowed, confused. “Then, why haven’t you gotten the test to see if you have it?”

Ah, this argument again. It always made sense in her head, but explaining it was a whole other thing. “It’s like this. If I take it and find out I don’t have it, then yay! I’m all good! But if I _do_ have it, then I have to live the rest of my life knowing it’s been cut in half. It’s not fair. People get run down by cars and people get shot at gunpoint all the time, but they don’t have to know about it! Why should I?”

Connie hissed in uncertainty, shifting around and readjusting the coat on Sasha’s shoulders. “I don’t know. Doesn’t certainty give people…a peace of mind?”

Sasha snorted at the thought. “Oh, come on. That’s not how it works at all. Life keeps moving because people have questions and they look for answers. If you have all the answers…what’s left?” She groaned, burying her face into her knees as she drew them close. Too much drama for one day, let alone packed into like, one hour. “Ugh. This is the worst day.”

“Now, now, the year’s only just begun.”

“Ugh. This is the worst _year_.”

He played with the ring on his finger, humming. “Sasha?”

“Yeah?”

It took him a a moment. “...I don’t think you can go on like this.”

She took a deep breath to try and steady herself; her entire frame shook, from an oncoming sob fest or from the cold, she didn’t care to know. It didn’t really work and she ended up leaning her head on Connie’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she admitted to him and herself for the first time. “I know.”

“You can do it, you know. I believe in you. You can make peace with it. And you certainly don't have to do it all tonight.” He leaned in and kissed the top of her hair. “But keep in mind, you do have 6 month time limit to figure your shit out. Those plane tickets are non-refundable.

Sasha couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “I’d hate for you to have to take Armin. Or worse, Jean.”

He rolled his eyes. She liked how easily they could fall back into something so casual after discussing something so serious. “Armin would be _way_ worse than Jean, are you kidding me? At least in Italy.”

“How come?”

“Do you know how many museums he’d drag me to?”

“What’s wrong with museums?” Hell, if she went to Italy, she’d definitely want to go to some. “I like them.”

“Okay, yeah,” Connie huffed, rolling his shoulders. “But you’re normal. He’d make me stand in front of the Sistine Chapel until I could identify every figure on that godforsaken ceiling.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Don’t you even think about it.” His phone buzzed in the pocket of his coat and he leaned away from her to dig it out. “Ymir says Armin took Eren to the hospital to make sure his nose isn’t broken.”

“I hope it is.”

“ _And,”_ Connie sighed, “She said they all left and they’re taking Mikasa home. She wanted to make sure you hadn’t jumped off the roof yet.” He cocked his head, confused, as he read the message over again. "Something about increasing your sample size?"

Sasha snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t jump off the roof," and Connie smiled just as she finished the bit with, “It’s not high enough,” which made Connie groan in exasperation.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know, right?”

He jumped to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. “I’m taking you to the hospital, too. Your hand looks nasty.”

“Noooooo,” Sasha whined. “No more hospitals.”

“Think if it this way. Now you can run into Eren at the ER and apologize!”

“That was not one of my resolutions.”

He looked unapologetic as he shrugged. "It is now."

Ugh. "Have I mentioned this is the worst year ever?"

“Should have thought about that before you shattered that glass,” he teased, climbing down the ladder first. When Sasha peeked over the edge she noticed there were a few, but not many, people looking at her. No security though. Jeez, security should have really thrown her out by now, they needed to step it up a notch. “Can you make it down in those wedges?”

It wasn’t the wedges that were the problem, it was the fact that she only had one good hand. But she could manage. Possibly. “Probably not. But it’s a good thing we’re going to the hospital, right?”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, she was admitted to the ER for a laceration to her palm _and_ a twisted ankle but more importantly, at least she didn’t break her finger like Connie did when he tried to catch her.

And _most_ importantly, Eren was nowhere to be seen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this a lot faster than I thought I would!!!!! I know that the confrontation seems to be a little on the teasing side with such little closure or answers BUT I can promise that there will be no questions by the end. The next chapter will pick up RIGHT here, same day and everything and then carry into the beginning of January. The final two chapter will have a somewhat equal split focus on Annie and Mikasa, if you can believe it.
> 
> I've also gotten a few questions over the course of updates wondering how the title relates to the fic. You'll figure it out, don't worry ;) As always, feel free to address any questions or concerns if you're confused. Or even point out some spelling errors! (Hah! I had an embarrassing one last time hehehe) I'll do my best to answer you. Thanks for reading guys!


	14. catch-22

_January 1 st_

 

“Lights are still on,” Connie murmured as Sasha grabbed her shoes from the back of Connie’s car seat. She got out of the street and onto the sidewalk and saw that, yes, the living room apartment lamps were on.

Sasha peeked into Connie’s car—the dashboard read _4:34 am._ “It’s probably an intervention.”

“You girls are really racking those up.”

“Shut up.”

Connie grinned a bit, but most of it was lost in how tired he was. He waved the hand with the silly little cast on his big finger. “I’m rooting for you. Call me when you get a few hours of sleep, yeah?”

As thankful as she was that Connie hadn’t lectured her _too_ much about punching Eren in the face, she knew it was inevitably to come. By Historia or Mikasa, she hadn’t decided yet. “Fine, fine.” She stared at his finger for a moment. “Sorry about the finger.”

He shrugged. “Sorry about your ankle.”

“Hah. Me too.”

He cocked his head to her apartment complex. “Go on now. You’re due for a scolding.”

Too tired for any further banter she gave a two fingered salute, closed the passenger’s door as quietly as possible, and watched him drive around the block before she carried her tired ass and her twisted ankle up the steps to her apartment. Upon her arrival, she realized tonight was _not_ the best night to put her house keys in Historia’s purse. She jiggled the handle lightly, hoping it was loud enough for whoever was in the living room to come get the door, only to find that, lucky her, the door was unlocked.

“Geez,” she said quietly, opening the door to the smell of coffee, “I could have been a burglar. Y’all need to lock the doors.” She set her shoes on the floor.

It was Mikasa who had stayed up; she was on the couch sipping on some hot coffee, wrapped up in blankets and her red scarf. “This is decaf, so you can save the lecture,” she whispered, her voice scratchy from weariness.

“I assumed as much,” Sasha replied, surprised her own voice was just as raw and quiet. “What are you still doing up?” But she sat down Mikasa anyhow, taking some of the blanket and laying it over her feet.

“Waiting for you.” Mikasa caught sight of the white wrappings on her foot and frowned. “What happened?”

She hoped Ymir would never find out; the teasing would be endless. “I fell off the ladder coming down from the roof.”

That information woke her right back up, and she heaved a heavy sigh. “So reckless….”

Sasha smiled guiltily. “Connie broke his finger trying to catch me.”

She snorted, hiding her expression underneath her mug as she took a sip. “You guys are quite the pair.”

A silence fell between them, and for the first time, it was almost…stuffy. Mikasa and Sasha were always capable of being silent companions, sitting in the same room for hours doing their own thing and never speaking, but this was not one of those times. Sasha owed an apology (to Eren? Definitely. To Mikasa? Probably. To her dad? She didn’t want to think about it.) but she didn’t really know how to go about it.

Mikasa got the ball rolling by revealing that, “You didn’t break Eren’s nose, by the way. He’s fine. Armin texted me so.” At Sasha’s sigh of relief, she added, “I don’t think you hit him nearly as hard as you thought you did.”

That was fair. She looked at her hand, bruised and wrapped in a large white bandage, looking a lot sorrier than her ankle. “I heard a crunch, but I guess that was just me digging the glass farther into my hand? Or maybe wishful thinking,” she winced at the memory. “Or something. Anyhow, they gave me stitches.”

Reaching over, (a difficult task for someone her size who was leaning back on a couch), she tapped at the Band-Aid on Sasha’s arm. “What’s with this?”

She pouted, recalling the fight she put up with the nurse at the ER. “Tetanus shot. That mean nurse said I had to get one. You touch _one_ open wound to a rusty ladder and apparently, it’s cause for concern. But whatever.”

“She’s right,” Mikasa simply shrugged, leaning back.

“Well, it still _hurt_.” Sasha groaned. “God, I hate hospitals.”

Mikasa smirked. “You work at one.”

“Yeah, for animals.” She murmured, playing with the suddenly fascinating edges of the blanket. “I guess what I mean is,” she revised, “I’m not the best patient myself.”

As quickly as Mikasa’s small smile of amusement came, it went at the mention of patients. That was Sasha’s own damn fault. “How long did you know about your…” she paused, taking a sharp intake of breath, “…condition?” she settled on.

This was it. This was the whole conversation she had been dreading since that godforsaken day in October. Maybe it was how late it was, maybe it was how much time had passed, but all Sasha knew was that suddenly, it…wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. “Well, I’ve known my dad had Huntington’s when he was found a few years ago and admitted. Me on the other hand....uh, back in October. Remember? I came home with the invisible gallon of milk.”

Mikasa looked heartbroken. “So you do have it? What’ll happen to you? How long does it take? What are the—“

Overwhelmed, Sasha held up both hands. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. I don’t know if I have it yet, I have yet to get tested.” Mikasa opened her mouth to refute when Sasha continued, “And before you ask why I haven’t gotten that test, I already explained to Connie about the futility of life and the appeal of the unknown and yada yada yada.”

“You can’t yada yada over that part,” Mikasa scoffed. “That’s the whole…part.”

“It’s a _long_ story,” She sighed, incapable of even knowing where to start.

“Well then, what about the cliffnotes?”

Reaching underneath her dress, Sasha tugged at Connie’s necklace and rolled the coin between her fingers.  “I guess it just comes down to the fact that I’m scared,” she whispered, putting on a small smile to ease any worries. “I’m scared that if I find out that I got it, there’s no more hope, and I don’t know what I’d do then.”

It was quiet for the longest time, and Sasha took that as Mikasa accepting that answer; or at least, she was understanding. “But is that all? Eren,” she paused, and Sasha took the time to note how _differently_ Mikasa spoke Eren’s name from anyone else’s, “He said your dad was back. Is that true?”

Somehow, that was worse than talking about herself. “Yeah, that’s true. I haven’t seen him, though.”

“And it’s been 3 years?”

She shrugged. “Almost, I guess. I haven’t really been counting.” Which was a total lie, but the better she played off its insignificance, the more likely Mikasa would believe she was kinda over her dad. Then again, Eren called her a piece of shit daughter and then she punched him, so maybe her efforts were for naught.

Mikasa must have been a fucking mind reader. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to see him, but what Eren said about you being a uh, bad daughter was out of line. You didn’t deserve it.”

Sasha laughed lightly, staring at the carpet. She didn’t want to meet her eyes. “I kind of did.”

“Sasha—“

“No, no. I mean,” she lifted her head and _prayed_ her eyes didn’t give away that scratchy-throaty feeling of an oncoming sob. Her smile was shaky. “I mean, I get that he’s sick and it’s not his fault. But I don’t think he went about it the right way, obviously. And seeing him again….” She paused, having to wipe at her eyes. Damn it. “I have this image of him in my head, right? Before he left he was still relatively _fine._ Things were rough but he was still my dad and he still loved me. So having him leave? I thought that something horrible had happened to him. I didn’t consider that he didn’t want to deal with me anymore.”

Mikasa’s eyes widened considerably. “No, Sasha, he was sick like you said, he wouldn’t do that--”

“That’s the thing!” Sasha almost yelped too loudly. “I have what my grandfather tells me, but I still don’t know. And seeing him…could change the image in my head. It’ll change what I think of my father, how I see him. And…I don’t know if I can handle that.”

Mikasa hummed, running her finger over the rim of her coffee mug. “I guess I can relate to that feeling.”

Instantly, Sasha recalled Mikasa’s fears of Eren finding out she was pregnant and what he’d do for the situation. Her fears of how Eren would change were probably similar. Sasha flexed her hand (nearly impossible with the bandages wrapped around her palm) and thought back on her actions with regret. “You know, Eren’s reaction wasn’t so bad.”

She wouldn’t look at Sasha. “I know,” she whispered, clutching her blanket tighter.

“He sounded like he would have helped you.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s helped you before, right? When your parents died? When you moved in?”

“Mmhm.”

“...I shouldn’t have punched him.”

That one made Mikasa smile. “No, you shouldn’t have. But don’t worry, he’s been punched harder.” She paused. “ _I’ve_ punched him harder.”

Sasha laughed, loud and obnoxious for one second, before she realized the others were sleeping and clamped her mouth shut. “Why on Earth did you punch him?”

Mikasa looked at her like she was crazy. “Because he needed some sense knocked into him.” A laugh. “He was quite the troublemaker in high school. His heart was always in the right place, but he never made the right decisions. He was careless and irresponsible.”

That didn’t really fit the description of the Eren Yeager she knew.  “He…hasn’t been like that since I’ve known him. He’s pretty responsible.” At Mikasa’s curious tilt of the head, Sasha went on to say, “He lives out on a farm, on the outskirts of town. I saw it. He takes care of animals, he built a shed, he gardens, takes care of his mom.”

“Takes care of his mom?” Mikasa repeated, worried. “What’s wrong with Carla?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sasha blinked. “Well, not physically. She’s just been depressed ever since you….well, since you left.”

Mikasa looked incredibly guilty. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she admitted. “I thought…I thought they’d be better off without me. Happier.”

“How could you even think that?” Sasha whispered thickly, reaching forward to card a hand through her hand. “No one is better off without you. Having you around is the best.”

She leaned into Sasha’s touch, resting her head on the back of the couch. “I made a mess of things. They went to all this trouble to get me back, to open up their home to me, and I got knocked up. By their own son. I just…” she bit her lip worriedly. “The whole thing was a recipe for disaster, good intentions or not. A baby would mess the whole dynamic up—“

“A baby doesn’t mess everything up.”

“Sasha.” Mikasa fixed her with a desperate look. “It would have changed everything. Whether or not Carla and Grisha were supportive is one thing, whether Eren took on the challenge is another, and worst of all, if we all ended up hating each other because of this…I couldn’t let that happen. So I left them a thank you note and took off.”

Scooting closer to Mikasa on the couch, Sasha did her best to give her a hug; she pulled her forward a bit and rested her chin on top her head. “But maybe what you did messed up things a bit, too.”

She shrugged. “I figured. I just…picked the lesser of two evils. Or so I thought. Kind of like you.”

Sasha hummed, running her tongue over her teeth. “Like me, huh?” Her chin bobbed up and down on Mikasa’s head. “But you know what? I don’t think we really considered any happy endings.”

Mikasa’s body shook with a bitter laugh. “No, we didn’t.”

“We messed up.”

“We did.”

“We should fix it.”

“Yeah.”

“…But like, in two days or something because I’m really tired.”

This time when Mikasa laughed, it was a lot more playful. “Agreed.”

Hopping off the couch, Sasha pulled Mikasa to her feet and dragged the two of them to her bedroom. They were having a sleepover tonight whether she wanted to or not. “When are you going to go see Eren?”

Her answer was lost in her yawn. “As soon as you go visit your father.”

Fuck.

"...Which I won't be doing until you go visit Eren," Sasha repeated slowly.

Mikasa sighed. "Seriously? You're going to make a Catch-22?"

Sasha scrunched her face in thought, thinking back to her high school literature classes. "I don't...I don't know if it's _exactly_ a Catch-22."

"Sure it is," Mikasa yawned. "It's paradox caused by contradictory rules."

Too many big words this early in the morning. Or the year, really. "I'll call Joseph Heller in the morning, he can settle it." She joked. Well, kinda. She'd at least wiki it. But as they climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep, Sasha couldn't help but decide that Mikasa was right. It _was_ a Catch-22. And of one of them didn't get over their own damn stubborn attitudes...

"We're going to be flying these damn planes forever," she whispered to an already asleep Mikasa before she, too, dozed off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! The last chapter wasn't received very well, and I think that's partly my fault :/ This part REALLY probably should have tacked on to the last chapter, but I just...thought it was still too much after what had gone on. A big question concerning Eren is that people didn't think he deserved to be punched, which is good, that's what I wanted you to think! Sasha punched him because she was angry at him and she wanted him to stop talking about her dad. It was ill-advised and wrong, and she'll apologize for it, so don't worry. (also, she really didn't punch him that hard, she just thought she did. It was told through her own POV, so some of the story "facts" get skewed)
> 
> This conversation is really important, and I thought I'd just stick it in the front of the next but the reality is that is honestly does not fit there, so it gets it's own mini chapter!!! Sorry again!!! If you're still confused, please let me know and I'll have to go back and re-edit the last two chapters to give them more sense, I suppose haha. Thanks again guys, hope you enjoy!


	15. the four letter c word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha learns what a broken nose really sounds like

_January 16 th  _

“Up. One more time.”

“Can’t. I’m dead.”

“Get _up.”_

“I’m _dead.”_

“Sasha!”

“Stop yelling at the dead, it’s completely pointless.”

Annie sighed. The argument had been going on for about 3 minutes. She adjusted the wrappings on her left hand and kneeled beside Sasha, who had her face in the foam mats on the floor. “You asked me to teach you how to fight. I can’t do that if you’re not really trying.”

Sasha whipped her head up, meeting Annie’s blue eyes with as much annoyance as possible. “I am trying! Trying not to die. You’re kicking my ass,” She whined. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Rolling her eyes, Annie reached down and pretty much picked Sasha up by the back of her shirt which was _amazing._ Turned out Annie was a lot stronger than she thought, too. “You’ve got some potential. But,” she rapped her bandaged knuckles against Sasha’s skull, “You’ll never get to use it if you don’t focus. Your head is in the clouds.”

“Sorry.” Sasha sighed, staring down at her hand; her right one was bandaged a little more heavily than the left, due to the stitches that were still in her palm. When she had told Annie she’d wanted a few fighting lessons at the university gym, she left out the part that her hand hadn’t healed. She’d assumed that it wouldn’t be that big a deal considering her hand would be wrapped at you didn’t really fight with your palms, but it proved to be a little more painful than she had thought. “My hand is just bothering me.”

“Let me see,” Annie said immediately, grabbing her hand and unwrapping the bandages to reveal her three stitches. “I didn’t know you had stitches,” she chided, smacking her lightly on the top of the head. “You could have pulled them out, dummy.”

“But I didn’t?” She patted her hair down sheepishly. “Don’t think of them as stitches. Think of them as…” she trailed off. “One of Grandma’s beloved embroideries.”

“Ah, I see,” Annie said, and Sasha heard the joke in her sarcasm before she delivered it. “I think it spells _Idiot_.”

“Harsh tone, dude.”

Annie played it off. “But they haven’t come out, nor have you complained much, so it can’t be that bad. It’s _your_ hand.” She shrugged. “You can do what you want with it.”

“Oh, good, because I was thinking of slicing it off and living my life as hook-handed pirate.”

“Cute,” Annie deadpanned, clearly reaching her quota for playing along with Sasha’s jokes for the day. “Listen, if you want to go another round, we can.”

Sasha beamed. “You don’t mind?”

Annie rewrapped the bandaged tightly around her palm. “I just said that I didn’t. Now, assume the beginner’s stance, just like I taught you.”

Sasha jumped a few feet back and balanced on one foot, raising her arms up to mimic all those kung-fu poses from the movies that she knew would piss Annie off. Instead of getting the exasperated speech that, no, that was not real fighting, Annie went the extra mile and dropped to the ground, swung out one leg and tripped Sasha right off her foot, sending her falling to the ground with a heavy thud. “Owww,” Sasha moaned, arching her back to rub at her ass, which had taken the blunt of the fall. “That was mean.”

Annie sighed wistfully, clearly not concerned with Sasha’s sore ass (rude). “I wish Mikasa could fight right now. She’d be a much better sparring partner than you.”

“That was meaner!”

“Then get up, stand _correctly,_ and prove me wrong.”

Sasha did as asked, assuming the position that Annie had taught her. Her muscles tensed in the anticipation of being knocked to the ground again; even though Annie wasn’t by no means actually trying to hit her hard enough for harm, she was also not going easy and letting Sasha get any kind of hit on her. There were two times where Sasha had managed to get the surprise on Annie, and that could only have been attributed to Sasha just being _so_ ridiculous in her battle cries, it confused her long enough for Sasha to get a touch on her.

Lost in her thoughts, Annie used the advantage and started coming at her, throwing hard punches that stopped only inches from her face; Sasha leaned back on instinct, so far that she started to lose balance and fall, only to have Annie reach forward and grab her by the front of her shirt and stopping her. “Pathetic,” she cooed lightly, pushing her down slowly to have her only thump lightly on the floor.

“Guess I’m not street fighting material, huh?” Sasha joked, and Annie groaned immediately at the comment.

“Please tell me that you asking for lessons was not part of some coy plan to start fighting for _real.”_ Annie begged, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Because I’ll tell you right now, you wouldn’t last two seconds.”

Sasha squawked. “Not even three seconds?”

“Nope. Not even three.”

“…two and a half?”

“No.”

“Okay, okay,” Sasha groused, picking herself off the floor and going to the corner to retrieve a hand towel and a bottle of water. “I only asked because I thought I could use the exercise. Help clear my head, or whatever.”

Annie nodded vaguely. “Hmm. I figured as much. It’s pretty much the only reason I agreed, since you’re a pretty useless fighter.” She took a swig of Sasha’s water. “I’m done pushing to get any of you to talk. I’ll let you come to me when you’re ready.”

Of all their roommates, Annie seemed to be the most stable, which was really saying something, considering she was an underground fighter. Sure, her lifestyle wasn’t ideal, but at least she had a decent amount of her shit together (excluding the whole lying to her boyfriend fact. But then again, she didn’t seem really bothered by it.) “Well, thank you. I know it sounds strange, but doing this still helps.”

Her normally stiff posture relaxed a bit, and she reached over to tug on Sasha’s ponytail. “Exercise is good for you,” which was probably Annie speak for _you’re welcome._ “But…”

Sasha quirked an eyebrow. “But what?”

“I’m going to have to call it a day.  I have to do some real practice if I’m going to win my next…” she sucked on her teeth. “...match.”

Annie hadn’t been in a fight for a few weeks due to the holiday, so it surprised her even more when Sasha realized she had been taking extra time to teach her arbitrary fight skills that she would never really use. Maybe Sasha was in need of a lot more help than she thought. “Who’s on the schedule this week?”

A smirk. “I’m trying to see if Levi and I can go at it again tomorrow night. It’s been awhile since I’ve fought him.”

Ah, Bilbo Bags ‘Em. The man with the worst stage name in history. “Are those still the most popular fights?”

“Generally, around here,” Annie sighed, sounding a bit tired. Then again, they were in the university gym on a Friday night at 10:30. “Though, it hasn’t been lately. Which is bad.”

“Less money, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” Annie laughed humorlessly. “But it could mean people are thinking we’re throwing the matches.”

Sasha cocked her head to the side like a curious puppy. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Annie blinked a few times. “Not exactly. It’s more a deal that we don’t kick the shit out of each other so that we can keep fighting and making money. But then again,” her shoulder sunk a bit, “I have gone a little easier on him when he hasn’t won a match in a while. And… I’m sure he’s done the same.” Annie groaned, running her hands over her face. “Ugh. I might _actually_ have to kick the shit out of him this time just to prove a point.”

Grinning, Sasha asked, “What if _Levi_ kicks the shit out of _you_?”

“Yeah,” Annie drew out, clucking her tongue. “That would never happen,” she said, taking another sip of water.

“Guess I’ll have to come and see, huh?”

She almost spit out another swig of water. “You’re going to come to another match?”

A shrug. “Sure, why not?”

She eyed her skeptically. “…are you going to make more Karate Kid references?”

Sasha scoffed. What was she, a kid? Nope, she didn’t think so. “No, of course not!”

Annie looked relieved. “Good.”

“I’m going to make the correct _Fight Club_ references.”

“That’s it. You’re _not_ allowed to come.”

Sasha laughed, a good gut-busting one. It had been a long time. “Just try and stop me!”

Already, Annie looked like she accepted the whole matter. She waved her hand dismissively. “Fine, have at it. As long as you don’t invite Bertolt or get killed, I don’t care if you come.”

“Those two restrictions are on complete different ends of the spectrum.”

Still, Annie appeared nonplussed. God, Sasha would kill for her general aura of apathy. Sasha could definitely use a bit more apathy. “Rules are rules.”

“There are no rules in Fight Club.” Sasha grinned.

Now, Annie looked a tad nauseous. Sasha’s humor tended to do that to her, a fun fact she’d picked up on over the past few months. “You quoted it wrong.” Annie told her. “If that’s what you were trying to do. Which I suspect it was.”

Yeah, she was. “Goddammit.”

“Have you still not seen that movie?”

The answer was a smidge on the embarrassing side, but she could still own up to it. “No. And I still don’t know what is has to do with a goddamn bar of soap.”

Annie groaned, slapping her hand to face and dragging it down her cheek. “You’re hopeless.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Sasha had work for the first time since New Year’s. The next day was also when Sasha saw Eren since New Year’s.

The first thing she saw at work when she got to work was a sticky note on the phone desk asking Sasha to go see Moblit. At first, she thought she was in trouble, but after going through her head and not really being able to pick out anything that was a cause for concern, she decided it had to be something else. Unless he knew about punching Eren in the face. Then, yes, her ass was completely fired.

“Sasha!” Moblit exclaimed with a bright smile when she knocked on his door. “There you are. You know that boy, the ones with all the cats that’s been here few times?”

Welp. Her ass was completely fired. “Eren?”

He nodded, still smiling, as he plucked another sticky note from his things. “He’s been around a few times, looking for you. Told him you were on vacation. He asked that I give you this as soon as you come back.” Upon a closer look, the sticky note was simply his address. “He asked that you come around and talk to him. He said you’d know what about. Finally got that chicken coop up, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Sasha murmured, folding the sticky note and stuffing it in the back pocket of her jeans. “Probably.”

The entirety of her shift, Sasha contemplated why Eren came to the vet clinic as opposed to her apartment. After all, he had just dropped her off the other day so surely he remembered where it was. Plus, her apartment had one valuable thing that this vet clinic did not: Mikasa.

In general, it was a slow day, and Moblit let her leave a little early with assumptions that she was going to go head over to Eren’s to go check out the chicken coop. An assumption she got to consider making a reality on the bus ride back to her apartment. Well, it had probably been two weeks too long, and she'd have to face the music sometime. Two stops before hers, she gave Connie a call and asked to borrow his car.

 _“Sure thing. Historia out?”_ he asked.

Normally, Sasha would use Historia’s car, but she didn’t want to be harassed with a million questions about what she was doing. She didn’t feel like lying so she just said, “I just need to get to Eren’s somehow, that’s all.”

_“Ah, got it. I walked over the comedy bar, so I’m not there right now, but the keys are on the counter. Armin’s home, he should let you in.”_

“Okay, thank you.”

_“Mmmhm. Good luck.”_

Sasha managed to get in and out of Armin’s apartment without getting bombarded with too many questions, but suddenly regretted it on the way over to Eren’s house. She could have stood to have a practice round or two because while she did know the words “I’m sorry” needed to be said, she didn’t know how they’d _exactly_ come out. Insincerity was her biggest fear; because if she ended up sounding bitchy again, she’d have to punch her own damn face as punishment.

She drove up The Qhapaq Ñan that was Eren's driveway at around sunset. When she got out of the car and looked around, she noticed the cold weather had not prevented Eren from doing some work; there was already a lot more foundation to the chicken coop, and the shed was painted another color.

Sasha probably stood outside his house for ten minutes. She decided to wait until her face was numb so that if Carla ever decided to get a revenge slap on her, she wouldn't feel a damn thing. Granted, it only took about 30 seconds for her face to get numb (the wind chill was like, negative 1 trillion) so she used the other 9 minutes and 30 seconds to simply find the balls to knock on the door. She walked up the porch and gave the door three solid knocks; there was barking from the dog and hurried footsteps and it only took about 5 seconds before the door was ripped open.

Eren looked at her wide-eyed for a moment, as if he didn't expect for her to show up at his house like he asked. “Sasha!” He didn’t sound mad, he sounded…relieved. It was dark on the porch, but she still tried to squint to see if Eren’s nose was bruised—it didn’t look it. He looked past her shoulder. “Is—?”

“It’s just me.” She announced before they got into that whole ordeal. Eren nodded and grabbed her by the lapel of her winter coat, ushering her inside. He nearly choked her trying to help her take her scarf off, all the while yelling at his mother from the kitchen. “Mom, Sasha’s here!”

Carla was in the foyer in a matter of seconds. “Oh, honey, come in, come in!” she and Eren both tugged her to the kitchen and sat her down at the table. “I’m still cooking dinner but it’ll be ready soon. Do you want some coffee?”

This wasn’t what Sasha was expecting at all from the mother of the kid who she violently hit. “I, um—“

“Tea?” Eren interrupted. “We got all kinds. Black, green, white—“

“I can also make hot chocolate!” Carla said. “Anything you’d like.”

Their voices were getting louder with each offer. “You can even have all three!” Eren yelled _way_ too enthusiastically. She saw Carla fighting a wince at the decibels. Sasha, however, wasn’t able to help it.

“Eren,” Sasha said slowly, clearing her voice. “First thing’s first—“

He looked at her wide-eyed. “Yeah?”

She fidgeted a bit in her seat. “I’m really sorry I punched you in the face, dude.” She groaned, letting her head fall to the table with a thud. “It was completely uncalled for. I shouldn’t have done it. So I’m sorry.”

He waved off her apology as she lifted her head. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He touched his nose. “It didn’t break, so no harm done. Besides, I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was going to talk to you about it in a civil manner and then I completely fucked up and tried to blackmail you. So I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not like what you said was untrue,” she mumbled under her breath, but he didn’t catch it. “So, let me get this straight…you’re not _mad?”_

He blinked. “Uhh, no? Why? Do you want me to be?”

“No. But you should be."

"Well, I'm not. At least not anymore." Eren smiled a bit. “Alright. Then that’s settled. Now!” That crazy, energetic spark reminiscent of a small child came back and he sat down in the chair next to her, scooting close. “How’s Mikasa? Is she okay?”

“How long has she been staying with you?” Carla jumped in. “Have you been with her most of the pregnancy?”

“Does she eat right? Go to the doctor a lot? Who’s paying for it? Are you paying for it?”

“Is the baby okay?”

“Ooh, is it a girl or a boy? Does she know?”

“Did she pick out a name?”

“Where is she going to deliver?”

“Can we see her?”

It took like, 5 minutes for all those questions to sink in. “Uhh,” Sasha stuttered, “That’s,” she reached up and tugged on her ponytail, laughing nervously. “Wow, that’s a—um. That’s a lot of questions.”

“Oh, sorry,” Eren said, looking sheepish. “Didn’t mean to overwhelm you. It’s just…”

Carla came over and laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “We’re just really glad to know she’s okay. We were really worried something had happened to her.”

Shit. The Yeagers were cute as hell. “That’s…very sweet.” For a moment, she was so swept up in their love for Mikasa that she couldn’t recall any of her previous questions for them, but she got back to it eventually. “Oh! Right! Eren!” He perked up, anxiously awaiting. “I was wondering why you went to the vet clinic instead of just…coming to my apartment. You know where it is.”

For the first time since her arrival, it felt like everything slowed down: even their old clock up on the wall seemed to tick at a slower pace. “I didn’t want to overwhelm her,” Eren admitted quietly. “I feel like I kinda ambushed her at the party. I’d hate to do something like that again.”

“We thought,” Carla began, squeezing her son’s shoulder, “That maybe through you, we could maybe arrange for her to at least _talk_ to us. We want her to come to us. Scaring her off is the last thing we want to happen.” Eren nodded enthusiastically at that.

“You were right, about what you said at the party,” Eren mumbled, and Sasha disagreed at that immediately, even without knowing what exactly he was talking about. Sasha said a lot of bullshit that night. “She ran away for whatever reason because she, in a way, didn’t feel safe with us.”

Sasha’s heart damn near _broke._ “No, come on, that’s not true. I was just being fuckwad.” Could she curse in front of Eren’s mom? Was that okay? She did it anyway. “Errr, I mean….a buttface.” That wasn’t a good replacement. Ah, it was too late, the damage was done.

Carla didn’t look bothered, more baffled at her choice of identifier while Eren shook his head. “It kinda is true. Otherwise she wouldn’t have run away.” He sighed, looking rather angrily at the floor. “But she would be safe here. We’d take care of her. _I’d_ take care of her.” He looked back up, eyes watering. “Please tell her that. _Please._ She needs to know.”

Something compelled her to reach over and squeeze Eren’s hand. Too many soap operas while locked up in her room practicing the art of self-loathing, she supposed. “I will, don’t worry.”

“I love her,” he said quietly, but those three words were strong as they rolled off his tongue. Like he’d said it a million times before.

She didn’t doubt it. “I see that. But I’ll try to do better.” He stared at her curiously. “I’ll try to make it so you can tell her yourself.”

She was suddenly falling back in the chair as Eren erupted like a volcano out of his; he tackled her in a hug and sent the two of them spiraling to the floor. “Thank you, thank you!”

One of his cats came over and started to paw at her face. “Okay,” she grunted, struggling for breath. “I get it, you’re thankful. Please get off, I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, sorry!” he apologized, rolling off her and helping her back on her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carla wiping a few tears from her face. As she set up her chair again, Sasha sighed. “It might take a few days or so, though.”

Eren still looked happy as ever. “That’s okay.”

“Mikky and I are currently the dual-protagonists in our own Joseph Heller novel. Emphasis on Hell. It’s a giant mess.”

“That’s okay,” he repeated, this time much slower. “Err…whatever that means. It’s fine.”

Sasha smiled. “But I will talk to her.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Sasha.”

Eren's grin was blinding.

 

* * *

 

Sasha stayed for dinner at Carla’s request, but she had to leave right after that if she was going to make it to Annie’s fight on time. Especially when she was halfway through her pork chop and she realized she was going to have to continue to borrow Connie’s car, which of course meant Connie would most likely want to tag along.

She went straight to his apartment, opting to skip out on meeting up with her roommates beforehand. It was a strange feeling, but she kind of wanted Annie to herself. As much as she loved Mikasa, Ymir and Historia, Annie’s more laid-back attitude was most comforting the past two weeks. It was easiest to be around her, since she hounded her the least. While all the others had asked about her apologizing to Eren and talking to her dad, she was the only one who had faith that she’d do it on her own terms so “no rush.”

She knocked on the door and, again, Armin opened it, wearing a small smile. “Hi! How’d everything go at Eren’s?”

“Good!” Sasha chirped, because honestly it had gone damn well. After letting her in, Sasha recognized the smell of lasagna. “Yum. Is Connie cooking?”

“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen,” he said, closing the door. “He’s waiting to take it out of the oven.”

“Sashaaaaaaaa!” Connie yelled as she slipped off her shoes and slid into the kitchen on her socks, knocking her stomach in to the edge of the counter. Ow. “You’re really racking up those injuries, babe.”

“I’m a klutz, what can I say?” She grunted, pressing her good palm to her stomach, as if the gesture would rid the pain away. For some reason, it made it a little better. “But speaking of injuries. There’s a fight tonight. Wanna come?”

Connie’s eyes went wide _as hell._ “Sasha—“

“It’ll probably be bloooooody,” she whistled dramatically.

Connie laughed nervously, and she saw him look past her into the living room. “Sasha—“

“I’m think we can count how many teeth she knocks out. Or how many she _gets_ knocked out. I don’t really know how this will end.”

“Sasha! Stop!”

She frowned. “What’s got you in a tizzy? It’ll be fun! I’ve been helping Annie all week.” Puzzled, Sasha wanted to know just was so captivating behind her She whirled around. “It’s just a fiiiiiiiiiii---“

Oh. Bertolt. Bertolt was standing behind her. The Bertolt that Connie had apparently invited to dinner. The Bertolt that Annie was dating. The Bertolt that wasn’t supposed to know about Annie’s fighting. That Bertolt.

“--iiiiiiiiiight.” She groaned, clenching her fist. “Fight. Fuck,” she leaned into Connie and whispered, “I couldn’t think of another word….”

Bertolt looked alarmed. “What’s this about a fight? What are you talking about?”

She tried her damn best to stall: smacked her lips together, blew the bangs out of her hair, checked her nails, sucked her teeth, and stared at a paint chip in the wall. She settled on, “Nothing.”

Nailed it.

Bertolt didn’t believe her, and, well, that wasn’t all that surprising. “Is Annie _fighting_?”

“Um,” her voice pitched up like, five octaves higher. Like that shit could have shattered glass. Why was she a horrible liar? “No? I mean! Yes!” She recalled their conversation from long ago. “At gyms. With safety equipment. And uh… rules.”

Rushing across the room, Bertolt came and grabbed Sasha by the shoulders (not roughly, but he definitely had her attention). “Sasha. Tell me the truth. Please don’t lie. Is Annie fighting in the streets again?”

“You’re not going to let me walk away from this, are you?”

“Not really, no.”

Fuck. Fuck it all. Sasha messed up. She _messed up._ She took the one person in her life that was letting her deal with her shit at her own pace and revealed her one secret to the one person who wasn’t supposed to know about it. Fuck all of this shit. It didn’t even matter. “Annie’s going to knock _my_ teeth out. But. Fine. Pack up your fucking lasagna to go, boys, we’ve got a fight to catch.”

 

* * *

 

The drive to middle of god-knows-where was silent, and painful. Armin had opted to stay home and avoid this shit show but Bert had called Reiner and now the four of them were in Connie’s shitty car driving to this fight. What would be the more interesting fight: The punch fest between Annie and Levi or the yelling match between boyfriend and girlfriend? Sasha bet on the latter.

Sasha noticed that Annie seemed to have completely downplayed the diminishing popularity of the fights. Upon their arrival, their seemed to be even more people than last time; she even recognized a few people from her classes last semester. She spotted the tall sniffing fellow from last time (Spike? No, Mike!) but the Nanabanana was nowhere to be seen. Bertolt and Reiner immediately set out to find Annie, which proved to be a difficult task considering how dark it was. Lucky for Sasha, however, she did manage to spot Levi, which meant that _maybe_ she could get to Annie before the boys did.

She managed to sneak off from Connie when he wasn’t looking and pushed through the crowds to get to Levi, who was standing in an out-of-the-way corner talking to some…dude. Well, maybe tool was a better word. He was sucking in straw and had a cowboy hat. He looked…creepy.

She heard their conversation before they noticed her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Levi was saying, and it sounded like it had been the 19th time he’d tried to get his point across.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s out of your hands at this point.”

Levi sighed. “I wish you’d told me sooner. She deserved a bit of a warning.”

“If she’s as tough as you say, she doesn’t need a warning.”

“Um, excuse me?” The two men whipped around and Sasha put on a tight smile. “Have you guys seen Annie?”

Levi opened his mouth to answer, but the other guy beat him to it. “Probably saying her prayers for the next fight.” He gave her a smile that made her feel uneasy.

Ignoring him, she turned to Levi. “What’s going on? Where is she?”

Groaning, he rolled his shoulders and gave another sigh. “I don’t know. Fight’s about to start, I’m sure she’s wrapping her hands or some shit.” That’s when Sasha looked—Levi’s hands weren’t wrapped, but the other guys were.

“Then shouldn’t you be doing the same?” she asked.

Levi eyed the other man out the corner of his eye. “No,” he said slowly. “There’s been a change of plans. I’m not fighting her. Kenny is.”

“Who the hell is Kenny?”

Creepy hat dude tipped said hat and gave her another smile. “That’d be me. I’m this grump’s brother.”

“Half-brother,” Levi corrected, looking up at his significantly taller _half-brother_. “Why don’t you just fight _me?_ Leave her out of this. She’s just a kid.”

Kenny shrugged. “She’s an adult, and she’s made her own choices. Don’t worry, it’ll be a fun fight.” And with that he slapped Levi on the back and walked away towards the stage.

Levi tried to walk off as well, but Sasha grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t get it. Why is he replacing you?”

He sighed. “Maybe Annie’s told you about this, but people have gotten,” he coughed, looking around, before lowering his voice, “suspicious of our fights. They think we’re throwing them. I thought me and Annie were going to have a rougher fight than usual to put the whole thing to rest, but Kenny was convinced that I wouldn’t be able to beat up Annie,” he made a face. “ _Properly_.”

“What does that mean?” Sasha snapped, her voice already rising.

“Annie’s strong.” Levi said, which yeah, duh. Of course she was strong. “But Kenny is _ruthless._ Annie may not follow fighting rules but she still uses proper fighting technique. Kenny….he just slugs and slugs. He might…really try to hurt her.”

Her heart skipped a few beats. That didn’t sound like a fighter; that sounded like a fucking sociopath. “Well, where is she? Tell her to bow out!”

Levi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If she drops out, no one will put money on her again. She’s not going to do that.”

Sasha felt her blood boiling. Maybe Levi wasn’t all that concerned with Annie’s safety, but that didn’t mean Sasha wasn’t. “Fine,” she spat, pushing Levi away and storming out. “I’ll go tell her myself.”

Finding Annie in the mess that was an abandoned warehouse with minimal lighting was difficult, but she managed to find her not too far away from the stage talking to Mike. Well, not talking. More like yelling. It seemed like she had finally gotten updated on the change of plans. “What the fuck, Mike!? Who the hell is this Kenny dude anyway?”

Mike shrugged, lighting a cigarette. He offered her a drag and she snarled, slapping it to the ground. He simply shrugged again and pulled out another. “He’s Levi’s brother. He’s made a name of himself a few towns over. Lot of people like to watch him.”

Annie didn’t care. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Don’t matter. You’ll fight anyway, if you want to keep your reputation. Besides, if you win, you’ll be looking at a semester’s worth of tuition.”

Annie calmed down significantly at that fact. “Seriously? Jesus fuck, how strong is this guy to be bringing that kind of money to the table?”

Mike smirked. “Strong. Hasn’t lost a match yet.”

“I don’t lose all that many, either,” Annie grumbled, kicking at a whole pile of nothing at the floor.

“Maybe _none_ if you weren’t throwin’ the matches.” Annie opened her mouth to refute, but Mike rolled his eyes and covered his hand over her mouth, which she took to biting. “Save it,” he snapped, yanking his hand back. “I know that’s what y’all have been doing, I’m not stupid. Now,” he pointed to the stage not too far away. “If you want to keep this up, you’ll get up on there in five minutes and fight, understand?”

“Yes, fine,” she shoved Mike away just Sasha jogged forward and grabbed Annie by the shoulder. “Sasha? You actually came.” She shifted her weight, putting a hand on her hip. “Turns out tonight might not be the best night to come.”

She tried to speak quickly. “Annie you can’t fight you’re going to get your ass handed to you!”

Annie fixed her with a flat look. “Gee, thanks.”

Sasha waved her hands wildly in the air, desperate to keep her attention. “No, no, you don’t get it! This guy is super scary, I saw him! He’s big and tall! Even Levi said he could really hurt you.”

If Sasha wasn’t so accustomed to seeing Annie every day, she probably would have missed how her eyes widened just a fraction. “Levi said that?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she'd listen to her. “Yes!”

Annie looked uneasy, eyes flickering back between the stage and Sasha. “It doesn’t matter." Fuck, never mind. "I have to fight,” she finally said reluctantly. “I can’t afford not to.”

Adding jumping up and down to the routine, Sasha went back to flailing her limbs. “No, no, no! You don’t have to do anything. Come on dude!” She lunged forward and gripped her roommate by the shoulders. “You’re going to get hurt. What about our bet, hmm?” Which, as soon as she mentioned that, she realized was pointless since Bertolt had already found out; but she didn’t have to know that yet, right? She lifted her head and looked around, but even at Bertolt’s height, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Look, I got to go,” Annie finally said when someone tapped on her shoulder and nodded to the stage.

“Annie—“

“I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you after the match, okay?”

Sasha had to push herself through the crowed to get to Connie, who had somehow managed to get near the front—there was still no sign of Bertolt or Reiner. There was, however, the usual yelling and screaming from nobodies in the crowd, most of them calling Annie names—awful gross names that didn’t even make Annie blink. Sasha didn't thinks she should get used to something as gross as that.

Kenny wasn’t really leering at Annie, but his apathy was unsettling. In the few lessons Annie had given Sasha, she came to know that calculating look in her eyes—an intense focus on trying to read the opponent. He didn’t have that. Kenny didn’t think of Annie as an opponent, he thought of her as a punching bag, and that worried her.

“Kick his ass, Annie!” Sasha shouted.

Usually, the fighters would dance around each other, but Kenny wasted no time in delivering the first punch. Annie sidestepped it, but his other hand grazed her shoulder when he tried a second time. She bounced on her heels a few times, trying to get a grip and swung her leg up to kick him in the gut, but Kenny reached out and grabbed her by the foot and threw her back on the ground.

This was not going to go well.

Annie was a good fighter but the fact of the matter was Kenny had blunt strength and height on his side. His punches weren’t as good as his kicks, and Sasha watched as he kicked her repeatedly in the stomach and tried to elbow her in the face. Annie was quick; the dodged a lot of the hits, but that’s where all her energy went—to defense. She could hardly get a punch in.

“She’s got a lower center of gravity,” Connie said, his voice surprisingly clear and soft amidst all the yelling. Probably because he was whispering in her ear. “If she can throw him off balance, she’ll be set.”

Just as Annie was crouched forward, Kenny took a step forward and kneed her in the head. She hit the ground like dead weight, but she got up a few seconds later and Sasha saw the blood in her mouth as she spit out a tooth. Damn, what a shame. Annie had nice teeth. Fingers crossed that wasn't a front one.

“I don’t know if she can manage,” Sasha whined. “Come on, Annie! Fight back!” she yelled, as if that wasn’t what she was already trying to do.

Annie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and Sasha saw her mouth moving—she didn’t know what she and Kenny were saying but it certainly made him mad. He snarled before taking a step forward and swinging his left fist. Annie tried to dodge it but it turned out to be a fake out as he used his right to punch her right in the cheek. She stumbled back, clutching her face and giving a small yelp of pain.

When the light caught her face, Sasha saw the heavy bruising and swollen right eye. “Kenny!” That was Levi on the other side of the ring. “Stop it, you’re being too hard!”

“It’s a fight, this is what she signed up for!” and he crouched on the ground, swung out his foot, and knocked Annie’s feet right from under her, sending her in a pile on the floor. Every time he hit her, it took longer and longer for her to get back up.

“He’s going to kill her,” Sasha whispered, but she wanted everyone to hear—she wanted Connie and Reiner and Bertolt and _everyone_ to know just what this Kenny guy was doing. “He’s going to kill her!” She sobbed, and the next thing she knew Connie was holding her back from trying to jump on stage.

“Don’t go up there!” he yelled. “Remember what I told you! We can’t mess with their matches!”

Yeah, fuck that. “I can’t let him just do this to her!” Sasha yelled, trying to shove people aside to get up to the stage. They watched as Kenny delivered another kick to Annie’s stomach and she doubled over, vomiting. God, how hard did you have to punch Annie Leonhart to make her throw up? “Annie!”

As soon as Annie stood back up, Kenny delivered one final blow to her face. Sasha swore she heard the distinct sound of her head _breaking_ before she reeled back and collapsed on the ground.

She didn't get back up.

“Annie!” Sasha screamed her name one last time before she managed to wiggle out of Connie’s hold and jump on stage. A commotion broke out immediately of people yelling and screaming (just like Connie warned) but Sasha had one goal in mind. Kenny was slowly walking over to Annie’s collapsed form, demanding that she get up. “Come on, fight!” he screamed. "I know you ain't done yet." He picked up his foot, intent on kicking her, when Sasha grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back.

“Stop it—“

When he whirled around and punched her in the face, Sasha knew _that_ was the sound of breaking a nose.

Well what do you know. Annie was right: she didn't last even three seconds.

She stumbled back, but she didn’t fall over. Grabbing her nose which was practically _gushing_ blood, she tried everything in her power to not cry. “Get out of here,” Kenny simply said, turning back around to deal with Annie, who still wasn’t moving.

“She’s not moving, stop!” Sasha screamed, letting go of her nose and trailing behind him. She felt woozy. “Don’t kick her! You won, just, please—“

Kenny whirled around to punch her a second time. Sasha closed her eyes and braced herself for the attack but it never came. When she opened her eyes, Bertolt and all his 6’4” glory had come out of nowhere to tackle Kenny to the ground.

At this point, the place was _crazy_. Levi jumped on stage to try and push Bertolt and Kenny off each other while Connie and Reiner did their best to attend to Annie. This point was also when Sasha started to get a little _dizzy._ Vision hazy, she stared down at her hands, completely covered in her own blood—she couldn’t even see the white of her own skin.

“Sasha!” She looked up and saw a fuzzy outline of Connie trying to get her to her feet. When had she gotten on the floor? Was she always on the floor? “Get up! We have to get out of here.”

Where was Annie? She couldn’t see Annie! They had to get her, she was hurt! “But—“

At first she didn’t know who it was, but she’d later realize it was Levi who forcefully yanked her to her feet and carried her off the stage. “Get out of here, now! I’ll deal with my shit-stain brother. Go!”

Connie’s instructions to her were just noise (left, right, it didn’t matter, steps were just too hard at the moment) before she heard him get frustrated and call for Reiner. He came over in seconds (minutes? Time was skewed, she really didn’t know how long it had been) and Sasha felt the sensation of being lifted into a pair of arms and being bobbed up and down as they ran away.

“We got to get to a hospital fast.” That was Reiner.

“There’s a gas station down the road. That should be far enough away from all this for an ambulance!” Bertolt. Did he have Annie? He must have.

“An ambulance?” At first she didn’t recognize her own words. Connie shushed her and told her not to talk right now.

“She’s breathing right now, but her heart rate is really low. I don’t care how expensive it is, call that fucking ambulance! Now!”

Blindly, she reached out into the air, but she didn’t feel anything. “Connie.”

She couldn’t see him, but she heard him answer her. “What?” he sounded frightened.

“I’m so sorry.”

She passed out.

 

* * *

 

Sasha’s consciousness came and went from the time the ambulance arrived to when she got to the hospital. She didn’t ride in the ambulance—Bertolt went with Annie and the paramedics said that Sasha, while in need of medical attention, wasn’t in immediate danger like Annie, and she’d probably be okay with just being driven there. At least that’s what Connie told her. Sasha didn’t really remember much of it.

The nurse gave her a splint for what she called "one of the worst broken noses I've ever seen" and instructions to try and stay awake for a few hours due to the possibility of a concussion. Which wasn’t going to be a problem; she was so ridden with guilt, misplaced or not, that she’d be lucky if she slept a wink all week. Connie and Reiner had left an hour ago after explaining that she had called Ymir and that she’d probably be around in a bit so they could take Bertolt home. It was a lie. Sasha hadn’t called anyone. She just wanted time to sit in an empty hallway and simply _be:_ no one hounding her if she was okay or asking her questions. She needed the quiet.

The clock on her phone read _3:18 am_ when Bertolt finally slipped out of Annie’s ICU room. His eyes were puffy and red as he looked at her, his mouth in a firm line. The two of them stared at each other and after a moment of painful silence, Sasha briefly wondered if Bertolt was going to simply walk away and leave her answerless. But then:

“She’s in a coma.”

_Shit._

"They don't know when she'll wake up." The "if" hung in the air.

_This was unreal._

"Her parents are on their way, they should be here by tomorrow afternoon."

Sasha scrambled to her feet from her spot on the floor. There was an apology on the tip of her tongue, a million of them actually, but they suddenly seemed pointless. They wouldn’t help. They wouldn’t change the fact that Annie….God, she was in a _coma._ So she kept her mouth shut for the moment.

“I told you,” Bertolt took a shaky breath. “I told you that Annie couldn’t afford to have her head knocked around like that anymore! But you let her fight anyway. You didn’t try to stop her.”

She found her words again. “I did! But even if I didn’t, would it have mattered?” Sasha cried, wincing when she scrunched her face to agitate her completely broken nose. “She does what she wants. I tried telling her it was dangerous, but she didn’t listen!”

“You have to make her listen!” Bertolt almost screamed, and he cowered at his own tone of voice, looking left and right down the hall to see who he had disturbed: there was no one around. “Sasha,” he tried again, voice much quieter. “We can't allow her stubborn attitude to be an excuse for endangering herself! You should have told her parents! You should have told _me!_ Maybe I could have gotten through to her!"

“I know,” Sasha croaked. She wanted to wipe away her tears but it hurt too much to touch her face, especially now that she had two black eyes. “I’m sorry,” the apology came out anyway.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “You went too far, Sasha. And now Annie’s in a coma. It could be weeks before she wakes up!” He stopped, trying to swallow back a sob. “If she even _does_ wake up!” He pulled at his hair and started pacing down the hall. “Not to mention the kind of brain damage she might have. And her jaw! That man ruined her jaw!”

Sasha winced as his voice started getting louder and louder. But she had no right to tell him to calm down, she’d leave that to a nurse. “I just,” he sighed,” taking a few steps back to slide down the wall and onto the floor across from her. “I wish I found her sooner in that warehouse. I wish I got to her before that… _scum_ hit the living daylights out of her.”

That felt like her fault, too. She let her back hit the wall, and she slid back to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Bert wouldn't hear any more apologies from her, but he did say one of his own. Her name was a broken whisper on his lips as he cradled his head in his hands.  “Annie, I'm so sorry."

They didn’t say another word until the sun rose, where they finally both got off the floor, and went their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one!!! more!!! chapter!!!! (can I tie up all the ends in one chapter? we'll see)


	16. tower of babel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why are they even paying rent they just live in the fucking hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: some parts are cheesY AS FUCK.

_February 1st_

* * *

_♪ ♫ I can never understand what went thru my mind, I didn't stop to see what I had done. Had to keep on driving deep into the night, the miles between would somehow put it right _♪ ♫__

“This song is unbelievably ironic.”

Ymir hummed, not really paying attention as she sifted through her set of white cards. She glanced again at the black subject card on the table and looked back at her choices. She plucked one from the middle, set it face down on the table, and Sasha watched as her face contorted into confusion as the song from her Spotify playlist kept playing. “Huh. It kinda is. Wait, what is this?”

Sasha tried not to look affronted as she overturned her card for the category: _I got 99 problems, but ____ ain’t one_. “It’s British rock band Genesis, featuring super star sensations Phil Collins and Peter Gabriel.”

“Well, it sucks,” Ymir scoffed, turning her head to put together the sentence. “I got 99 problems, but drinking alone ain’t one.” Ymir snorted and flashed Sasha a lazy grin. “Haha, aren’t you hilarious.”

It wasn’t really her best material, but for some reason this round of Cards Against Humanity was rather tame for the two of them. Then again, it was only the two of them playing with botched rules as a means to stall for their exams this week. “This song is off their best fucking album,” Sasha went on to say, “It was certified platinum at _least_ 27 times." A completely necessary hyperbole. "Genesis doesn’t suck.” She overturned Ymir’s card and read, “I got 99 problems but teenage pregnancy ain’t one.” She laughed, looking up at Mikasa, who was across the living room reading a book on the couch, who did not appear phased.

“Is that game just how many sly digs you can get on one another?” She asked tiredly, not even looking up from her book.

“Yes,” Ymir and Sasha answered together. “But we’re angels compared to Annie,” Ymir tacked on. “She always makes the most terrible, mean ones. She’s my hero.”

The Genesis song about dreaming while sleeping kept going and the whole room was brought back to the reality of Annie’s predicament. It had been two weeks since she had been KO’d into that godforsaken coma, and all of the girls had done their best to get on with their lives, but it was hard. Without Annie, the apartment felt bare and empty. It was like missing a piece of their little jigsaw puzzle of a family. 

For a few days, the lot of them shut down—they didn’t go to class, they didn’t talk, they didn’t sleep. The four of them were a mess, particularly Sasha, who had the physical trait of a Jackson Pollock squiggle for a nose now. She was so self-centered in her grief, it wasn’t until she got a call from Armin a few days after the fight did she have to put everything in perspective.

 _“Has Mikasa eaten lunch today?”_ he had asked and when Sasha thought back, she realized no, Mikasa hadn’t eaten lunch. Nor had she eaten breakfast. Did any of them?

 _“You have to make sure she takes care of herself.”_ He had told her. _“I know that you’re upset, but all that stress isn’t good for her. Please, she needs you guys a lot more than she thinks she does. Take care of her.”_

The moping stopped immediately. Besides, Annie would have probably slapped her around if she found out they were all being bums whining over her. So, Sasha went back to class, she started playing music, she cooked for her roommates—she tried to make their lives as normal as possible.

God, she missed Annie, though. They all did.

“I wish she’d make like Aurora and wake up,” Sasha complained, overturning another black card: _In his newest and most difficult stunt, David Blaine must escape from _______

Ymir slapped her card down immediately. “Auschwitz.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Sasha cried, _“Dude.”_

Ymir grinned. “This is terrible. This game is terrible. I love it.”

“It truly is some sort of coping mechanism,” Sasha mumbled under her breath, putting down her own card. “A windmill full of corpses.”

Ymir’s whistle was long and low. “Damn. Dark, dark, dark.”  A timer went off in the kitchen. “HISTORIA.” Sasha cowered at Ymir’s shout.

“I’m coming, I heard it, calm down,” Historia griped, emerging from her bedroom looking a little worse for wear. Unlike Sasha and Ymir, she really couldn’t afford a study break and had cooped herself up to keep away from any distractions. She’d stuck a frozen pizza in the oven for lunch, which truly proved that Historia had a lot of studying to do if she was willing to eat that. “Are you guys still playing that game?” she chided when she heard Ymir announce just as she overturned the next card: _My country tis of thee, sweet land of __________

Sasha finished it instantaneously. “Police Brutality!”

“Oh my god,” Ymir cackled. “Shit. Fuck. It’s too real. It even rhymes!”

Historia, however, was not laughing. Law studies was doing that to her. “Ymir, you need to study.”

She was still laughing. “In a minute," she wheezed.

“Now, Ymir.”

“Why are you only getting on _my_ case?” Ymir groused, but she grabbed her laptop and started pulling out her notes again. “Why not bug Sasha?”

“Because that’s Mikasa’s job.”

Again, Mikasa didn’t even look up from her book. “Sasha. Get back to studying.” Well what do you know. It really was her job.

“And turn off that music,” Ymir whined, reaching across the table to turn off Sasha’s Spotify. She snatched it before Ymir got her hands on it. There was no way she was turning it off. _We Can’t Dance_ was their best album and there was absolutely no reason to hate on it. How could anyone hat on Phil Collins? He made the fucking soundtrack for Tarzan, for God’s sake.

“Annie likes Genesis,” Sasha muttered, which was true. She’d played the music before and both Mikasa and Historia had expressed their dislike, but they didn’t hate it enough to turn it off. Annie was the only one who admitted she had a few of their CDs herself.

“Well, Annie’s in a fucking coma because her decision making skills aren’t exactly top notch, so I wouldn’t trust her opinion.”

“ _Ymir!”_ Mikasa and Historia shouted in unison.

“What? It’s true!”

Sasha laughed lightly. It _was_ true. And if they didn’t laugh at this stuff and move on with their life, they’d be crying, and what good did that do? “Hey,” Mikasa grunted, setting her book down and getting off the couch. “Have you gotten any updates?”

While still pretty mad at her, Bertolt didn’t hate her nearly enough to keep information on Annie’s condition from her. He told her updates whenever her parents would give them to her. “He texted me a few days ago and said nothing really changed. They hope she’ll wake up soon. Apparently she like, flinches when they poke her with stuff, which means she’s not brain dead or anything.”

“I sure hope so,” Mikasa mumbled, and then Sasha watched as she started pacing back and forth across the living room, sometimes wondering into the kitchen, the bathroom, or her bedroom.

“Are you pacing _again?”_ Ymir huffed, pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose and eyeing her work. “This is like the fourth time. What’s got you so antsy today?”

Sasha caught Mikasa's grimace, hand on her lower back. “Nothing. I’m just uncomfortable.”

Ymir snorted. “Well, you’re pretty huge, no surprise there.”

But while she could easily laugh that off, something about it didn’t really sit right with Sasha. “Uncomfortable how?” she asked slowly, staring at Mikasa’s every move.

“My back just hurts,” she shrugged.

Historia caught on as well. “Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes,” Mikasa said, sounding exasperated, before she winced again, walking out of their line of sight into the hallway, presumably into the bathroom. “I mean, I’m sure a little pain at this point is normal,” Mikasa raised her voice a little to let it carry. “I’m fine, really. Can’t be worse than your broken nose.”

Tentatively, Sasha tapped her nose and groaned. While she had downgraded from obnoxious splint to small bandage, her nose was still most certainly broken. At least her black eyes were about gone. “Do you think it’ll go back to normal?” she asked her roommates. “Like, completely?”

“I hope not,” Ymir teased.

Historia was a lot nicer. “Even if it didn’t, it’s really not that bad as it is right now. If your face wasn’t all bruised, I bet no one would even notice.”

She supposed that was a fair assessment, but still. “I liked my nose. It was the only thing going for me.”

“That’s not true!” Historia said just as Ymir declared that, “Well then, you shouldn’t have gotten it smashed into your skull.”

They were truly the cutest couple.

“Guys?” Mikasa called from the bathroom and Sasha reached over to smack Ymir in the arm out of habit. She never remembered to put more tissue on the dispenser.

They were mind readers. “I _put_ more toilet paper in the bathroom, ow!” Ymir hissed, rubbing where her arm had gone red. “It’s under the vanity, Mikasa!”

There was a long pause, which they all assumed meant she had gotten it. “No, it’s not that…” Mikasa yelled again, this time voice a little shaky. All three of them shared looks.

No….

Sasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was all a dream. Surely this was a dream. Because this was not the right time. “Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.” She waited for Mikasa’s answer with baited breath as she watched Ymir start counting with her fingers, stopping when she got to eight.

“…I think I’m in labor.”

Again, Ymir counted, stopping at eight. “That’s…no, wait!” She jumped out of her chair and Sasha did the same, only she tripped on the leg and tumbled to the ground, luckily _not_ landing on her face and ruining any progress her nose had made in realigning itself. “It’s only been eight months!” Ymir exclaimed. “You can’t be going into labor it’s….it’s not…!”

“ _It ain’t done cookin’ yet!”_ Sasha screeched, scrambling to get back on her feet. Ymir hurried to the bathroom while Historia pointed to the kitchen table, where all their stuff was laid out. “Sasha, your phone! Call Armin!”

She didn’t have Armin’s number, but she had Connie’s and that was going to have to be close enough. In a comical display of clumsiness, it was almost as if her phone was slathered in butter as she struggled to get a firm grip and hit “3” on her speed dial. It rang about four times before Connie picked up, sounding way too calm for the situation at hand. She’d have to bring him up to speed. _“Hello?”_

“Where’s Armin!?”

“ _Whoa there!”_ Connie’s voice sounded small, probably because he most likely pulled the phone away from his ear when she yelled. _“Armin is in his room, what’s the matter?”_

“Give him the phone!”

_“What’s going on—“_

“Mikasa is in _labor_ now will you _please_ give Armin the goddamn motherfucking phone!”

It was Sasha’s turn to pull the phone away from her ear when he shouted. “ _ARMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN. CODE JUNO MCGOUGH IS A GOOOOOO”_

Wait. Pause. “You guys have a code system?” she asked, surprisingly calm. Must be due to the short attention span. Upon further suspicion she added, “What’s my code?”

_“Obviously, you have several, but I think my favorite is Code Moonshine.”_

Wonder who gave him _that_ nickname. “If Annie wasn’t unconscious and I’d kick her ass.”

 _“Here’s Armin.”_ There was some shuffling and then Armin’s softer voice greeted her like the world wasn’t coming to an end. _“Hey, Sasha.”_

Sasha went back to her panic, jumping up and down and flailing around; her words came out in a tumbled mess. “Armin what do we do Mikasa is in labor or at least she thinks she is I don’t know it’s a month early this can’t be good I don’t know what to do help us!”

 _“Okay, first off. Calm down. You freaking out isn’t going to do anyone any good.”_ She tried her best, but it didn’t work. She had to put a hand over her mouth to keep herself from yelling out nonsense so Armin could finish telling them what to do. _“Secondly, this isn’t all that uncommon to have babies a month early, so again, don’t freak out.”_

His words _so_ weren’t helping, but he was the doctor, so she had to do her best not to piss him off. “Okay, fine. I’ll try not to freak out.” Lies. She ran over to the kitchen and started pulling out all the drawers.

_“What’s that noise? What are you doing?”_

She kept pulling out all the drawers until she found the oven mitts in the one closest to the…well, the oven. Where they should be. “Okay, you’re the baby expert; I’m just basing this off like…well, a guess? But if the baby’s one month early that means it’s like the size of an orange? ” No, that was stupid. They were definitely bigger than that. “No! A grapefruit!” That was better. “Which is relatively about the size of a softball?" Yep. This was gonna make sense. "They don’t reach football size for another month.” Medical school was truly doing her wonders.

_“Uhhh, no, Sasha—“_

“Stay with me on this. So theoretically,” she continued, “I should be able to catch the baby with a baseball glove, right?” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, “Well, okay, not me. Ymir. She was on the softball team in high school. Which, yes, before you say anything, I do realize is completely stereotypical of someone of her sexual orientation. But regardless.”

_“Sasha—“_

Ugh, would he let her finish? “So my question is,” she held up the oven mitt, as if he could see it over the phone. “Is an oven mitt a decent replacement to use for delivering a baby?”

Oh yeah. Nailed it.

“Sasha, for _fuck’s_ sake, what are you talking about?”

That was Ymir, who she found to be helping Mikasa to the front door; Historia was on her tail with some sort of giant…bag on her shoulder. This wasn’t any time to be taking some little day trip. “Where are you guys going?”

Mikasa looked exasperated, but Historia answered for her. “The hospital?”

“Oh!” Sasha shouted, and it was probably loud enough to make Armin consider a hearing aid on the other end. “That’s a really good idea!”

He must have handed over the phone because it was Connie who told her, _“It’s a good thing you’re not the pregnant one, kid.”_

Well, that was true. She looked back up and saw the front door open, her friends halfway down the hall to the elevator. “Sasha, pick up the pace _let’s go.”_

 _“We’ll meet you there,”_ Connie told her. _“Try not to have an aneurysm on the way?”_

“No promises,” she complained before she grabbed her bag and ran out the door.

 

* * *

_2:12 PM_

“Where’s that fucking spinal thing?” Mikasa groaned as Sasha, again, watched her pace back and forth around her hospital room. Mikasa never cursed, so it was truly a testament to how much pain she was in.

Glancing at the clock, Sasha tried not to cower when she realized they had only been there 2 hours since they arrived at the hospital. “Sorry, the nurse said you weren’t…dilated enough?” she didn’t remember the exact reason, but she did know, “Whatever the reason, she said you couldn’t have it yet.”

Mikasa groaned again and continued pacing.

_3:25 PM_

“This is amazing,” Ymir whispered in her ear.

From her seat in the hospital room, Sasha glanced over and saw Ymir staring at Mikasa arguing with a nurse. The commotion had somehow not woken up Historia, who had decided to take a short nap and use her girlfriend’s shoulder as a pillow. “What? Mikasa being in pain?”

“No, not that,” Ymir rolled her eyes. “Just…listen.”

She did. And the tail end of what she caught was quite interesting. _“---wouldn’t give me medication is a complete walnut.”_

“Did she…did she just call the nurse a walnut?” and when Ymir had to hide her laugh behind her hand, Sasha had to admit that, while Mikasa was in pain, her choice of insults was, in fact, amazing.

 

_4:23 PM_

“I’m bored. Can you hurry up and have the thing?”

“Excuse me.”

“You’re right, sorry. Take your time.”

 

_5:55 PM_

“So,” The nurse eyed the three of them as Mikasa sat back down on her hospital hand, “Which one of you has the honor of holding her hand during this whole process?”

While they all wanted to give Mikasa the support she wanted, there was also this fear that she might very well near break whoever's hand she was holding. “Uhh,” Sasha stuttered, looking over to Ymir and Historia, who each had their fingers on their noses. Oh, hell. Seriously?  “Goddamn it. That’s not fair. I can't play that game, I can't touch my nose!"

“That’s exactly why we picked it!" Historia beamed, cheery smile and all. 

“Fuck you guys.”

 

_6:46 PM_

Once the sun set and the baby hadn't arrived, Sasha started to consider some more options.

She left Mikasa with her doctor, as well as with Historia and Ymir while she slipped out of the room and into the ward’s waiting room so she could think. She hadn’t left the room since they had arrived, and she was surprised to see Connie and Armin had opted to stay the entire time. She found them slumped in two chairs—Armin was asleep, his head in his hand, while Connie was flipping through an outdated celebrity magazine. “Connie,” she whispered, careful to not wake anyone else who happened to be asleep in the waiting room.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Hey,” he whispered back, putting the magazine down. His smile fell when she didn’t reciprocate enough enthusiasm. “She still in labor, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sasha mumbled with a shrug. “There’s some…problems. Or at least, it’s just taking longer than we thought.” Rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand, she groaned. “She’s five weeks early, Connie. This isn’t going to end well.”

“Hey, hey,” he took a few steps forward and laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Like Armin said, it’s not that uncommon. Thousands of babies have been early, and they’ve been just fine.”

“Maybe,” she mumbled, rubbing her arm and staring at the floor. “But…” she bit her lip and she tasted blood from an earlier split she made from constant gnawing on it.

“I know that look,” Connie whispered, and when he looked up, his mouth was quirked in a half-smile. “That’s your thinkin’ look. You’re thinking too hard. C’mere,” he grabbed her by both her hands and walked her over to a seat and sat her down with a gentle push to her head. She expected him to sit beside her but instead, he crouched in front of her. “Hey,” he grabbed her hands again and gave them both a hard squeeze. “I know it’s hard, but worrying yourself sick over something you have no control over? It’s pointless.”

Sasha knew that, but, that wasn’t what was bothering her. “It’s not that, it’s—“ she sighed, eyes drifting back toward the ward where Mikasa was. “I need to break the Catch-22. I need to call Eren.” Wait, that needed an elaboration. “I mean, I just think….” She sighed again and met Connie’s eyes. “I think maybe he could help her.”

Connie quirked a brow. “What makes you say that?”

Pursing her lips, she turned her gaze downward and began playing with their intertwined hands, running her fingers over his knuckles. “I think the only reason Mikasa won’t talk to Eren is simply because she thinks he won’t be able to handle it. Because he doesn’t love her." Her eyes flicked back up.  "But I’ve talked to him, and I know he can handle it. He wants to handle it. He loves her very much. He just needs the chance to tell her that.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, lifting both their hands to his mouth. I wasn't so much a kiss, but rather he just mumbled into her skin. “Do you think Mikasa would want to see him?”

“I don’t know.”

He dropped her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “They maybe you should go ask her,” he whispered.

It really _was_ that simple. “Okay,” she whispered back, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

When Sasha returned to the room, the nurse’s face brightened considerably. “Ah, there you are! The hand holder. She’s real close, getting ready to push soon.” Ymir was leaning back in her chair while Historia was by Mikasa’s bedside, whispering encouragements and smoothing back her hair on her sweaty brow.

“Mikasa,” Her name was hoarse on her tongue as she approached the other side of her bed and grabbed her hand; Mikasa squeezed it _tight_ but Sasha prided herself on not wincing. “How are you doin', kid?”

She moaned. “Don’t ask that, you know exactly how I’m doing.”

Right. Better get right to the point. “Mikasa,” she repeated. “Do you want Eren here?”

Mikasa stared at her, baffled. “What?”

“Eren,” she said more firmly. “Do you want me to go get Eren.”

“I—“ her eyes were wide, her mouth hung open, and overall Mikasa was just _in pain:_ physically, emotionally, she was all over the place. “I don’t...I—“

“I won’t get him if you don’t want me to, but Mikasa?” She waited, looking nervous. “You say the word? I will go get his ass.” With her right hand free of Mikasa’s death grip, Sasha reached up and smoothed more of her roommate’s hair.

Tears were prickling in Mikasa’s eyes. “But that party—at New Years—he might not want to _come—_ I haven’t seen him since… _“_

Fuck.

Sasha really should have had this conversation sooner.

She gripped Mikasa’s hand back, _hard._ “No, no, you listen to me,” she whispered fiercely. “I’ve been a mess lately with my bruised up face and with Annie in a coma and I’ve been so distracted,” she sighed. Damn. Why hadn’t she done this shit like, two weeks ago when she was supposed to? “I’ve talked to Eren since the party. He was never angry at you.” Sasha snorted and added, “Hell, he wasn’t even mad at me for punching him in the face but Mikasa…he’s not angry with you. The only reason he hasn’t been around is because he didn’t want to scare you off. It’s a giant mess, I know, but,” she lessened her grip on her hand. “I promise you he isn’t angry with you. And he’ll show up if I call him.”

Mikasa’s voice wavered on the single word, “…Really?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Sasha let go of her hand and fished out her phone, finding the correct contact under “E.” It rang four times before he picked up, thank God.

_“Hello?”_

“Eren?” Mikasa eyes widened when Sasha said his name. “Hey, it’s Sasha.” She put the phone on speaker, unknowingly to Eren. She re-positioned the phone next to Mikasa’s mouth. _“What’s that beeping? Are you…are you in a hospital?”_

“Yup.”

_“Again? Really?”_

She had to fight urge to be sarcastic with him. After all, brevity is the soul of wit, and that was probably true at times like these. “I’m here with Mikasa. She’s in labor.”

It’s a good thing they weren’t near a fault line, because he probably could have started an earthquake with that shout of his. _“What?! Isn’t that….”_ They could hear him mentally counting in his head, _“Isn’t that too early? Is she okay? Is the baby okay? Does she need anything?”_

“Actually, she could use something. Thought you could help.”

 _“Name it.”_ He promised firmly. Sasha eyed Mikasa and gave an encouraging nod.

“E-Eren?” Mikasa whispered, and Sasha had to mouth for her to be louder. “Eren, you there?”

 _“Mikasa?”_ His voice went several notches lower in intensity. _“Hey,”_ he said soothingly. _“What do you need?”_

“Eren,” she said his name again, taking a pause when she felt the pain of another contraction. “Eren, would you mind…?” Mikasa didn’t finish the sentence.

Luckily, Eren was there to help her along. _“It’s okay, you can ask. Whatever it is, I don’t mind.”_

She was starting to cry. Quiet, little sniffles, but Sasha still heard them. “Can you come down here? At the hospital with me? Please?”

 _“You want me down there?”_ he whispered, and Sasha could hear how touched and happy he was. _“Of course I’ll come. I’m on my way right now.”_

“Really?”

They heard a screen door slam. _“I’m running out to the truck as we speak. Teaching hospital, right? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”_

“Thank you.”

 _“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until I get there?”_ Damn this boy was too good with her. Ymir must have thought the same thing, judging by her rolling of the eyes and Historia telling her this wasn’t the time to be muttering about “Sap alert.”

The nurse shook her head with a sad smile. “They say I need to hang up.”

“Call me when you get there,” Sasha said, taking the phone back and putting it off of speaker. “I’ll come down and get you.”

_“Okay. Sasha?”_

“Hmm?”

_“…Thank you.”_

Twenty minutes and a yelling match about where to park in the fucking deck later _("Level B, Eren, LEVEL B!" "I don't see...!" "tHE FUCKING BLUE ONE")_ , Eren finally arrived at the hospital. He had managed to grab his mother on the way over and the two of them were out of breath by the time they got to Mikasa’s room in the maternity ward.

“Hey, sorry it took so long,” Eren panted as he walked in, his coat already off as he threw it in a nearby chair as Carla closed the door behind her. He made a bee line for Mikasa and took her hand in an instant. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her palm.

“Hi,” she said, a bit breathless, eyes droopy from exhaustion.

He smiled, wiping away one of her tears. “Hey,” he repeated, even quieter.

“Eren,” she cried, “I’m sorry I ran away. I didn’t mean to make you guys upset. I just thought that after you guys fought so hard to make me part of your family, I went and messed it up and I just—“

“Hey, hey,” he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry about any of that right now, okay? Nothing's changed, we all still love you. So, you just focus on what you need to do.”

“Alright, Mikasa,” the nurse began, “You’re almost there.”

“You can do it,” Eren said firmly as Mikasa whimpered again at the prospect of more pain. “Women do this all the time, and you’re the strongest woman I know. I know you can do it.”

Sasha, who was watching the spectacle from the wall adjacent to the bed, felt a nudge to her shoulder. She looked down into a head of blonde hair. “We should probably go wait outside,” Historia whispered, arm looped with a sleepy looking Ymir. “I think with all of us in here it’s a bit overwhelming.”

She could agree to that. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Besides, there was someone she needed to talk to.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, your friend’s in there,” the doctor whose name tag read _Isabel_ nodded towards Annie’s hospital room. She must have remembered her from the night they arrived two weeks ago. “You can go on in for a bit. Her parents went home for the night.”

Annie’s room was rather big, bigger than she expected. There were flowers in the corner, tons of them, all of the same type: carnations.

“Hey, Annie,” Sasha coughed, scratching at the back of her head. It felt weird talking to someone she knew couldn’t talk back. “Pretty sweet crib you got here,” and she laughed pathetically at her own bad joke. Beside her bed was one chair, the other one pushed up against the window: it was a terrible view of the opposite wing of the hospital, but hey, it was a window, which was better than nothing.

“Mikasa’s having her baby.” Maybe she couldn’t answer, but Sasha was pretty sure she read somewhere that people in comas could hear what was going on, so she thought it wise to keep her up to date. “You got to wake up soon so I can collect your bet money,” she teased, easing herself in the chair. “But then again, at this point, I just hope it’s healthy, boy or girl,” she buzzed her lips together, letting out an exaggerated breath. “This baby’s a bit early. I guess it was a little too excited to meet us. Specifically me, I’m sure.”

Looking around the room, Sasha noticed that besides the flowers, it was incredibly bare. No artwork, none of Annie’s things: just a single book on a nightstand.

“What’s this?” Sasha said aloud, because for some reason it felt better to just say everything on her mind, even her thought processes. She plucked the book from the table and turned it over, surprised to find it was a bible. “Huh. I thought they only did this in hotel rooms,” she mumbled, fingering the gold-edged pages. “Is this what you’re parents read you all day long? Prayers?” She shrugged, continuing to play with the pages, flipping to random chapters: Mark, Psalms, Isaiah. For a good, long moment, she wondered if the book belonged to Annie’s parents or if it was simply a souvenir of the room, passed down from patient to patient in hopes of believing in miracles again.

Sasha, for one, found it very comforting at a time like this.

“Let’s see,” she mumbled, adjusting her posture in the chair so that she could read. “How ‘bout a story? I’m sure the silence is just killing you. Start from the beginning, yes?” Flipping the pages back to the front, she couldn’t help but laugh when she remembered the first book of the Bible was Genesis. “In the beginning, there was a multi-platinum British rock band.” She set the book down for a moment and crossed her ankles, leaning into the hospital bed. “Which, by the way, none of our other roommates appreciate. When you wake up, we’ll blast it all the time.”

Sasah picked up the book again. The first story was Adam and Eve, but that one was too easy, everyone knew that, so she skipped those pages. “Naked people blah blah blah….forbidden fruit blah blah blah…..punishment for all of mankind blah blah blah…okay, I’m sure this is far enough. Genesis 11.”

She paused, looking down at Annie, and started.

“ _Now the whole world had one language and a common speech_ ” Sasha began, “ _And as people moved eastward, they found a plain in Shinar and settled there_.” She hummed, tilting her head. “Where do you think Shinar is, Annie?”

No answer. But Sasha would continue.

“ _Then they said, ‘Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.’_ ” Sasha smiled. “Sounds like the people of the world used to want to all stay together, can you imagine that? I sure as shit can't. You can tell this thing is really dated, hah!"

She wanted to know how tall their tower was.

“ _But_ ,” Sasha continued, “ _The Lord came down to see the city and the tower the people were building. The Lord said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.”_

She paused.

“Hey Annie?” This time, Sasha waited for a response, prayed for a response, _expected_ a response, but of course, it never came. “Do you think that’s why there’s so much suffering in the world? Because all people, we don’t speak the same language. Communication is important,” she gave Annie the stink eye, even though it was pointless. “Might have kept you out of a coma. Come to think of it,” her face relaxed as the realization came to her. “Would have kept Ymir out of alcohol poisoning, Historia out of an identity crisis, Mikasa out of teenage pregnancy and me out of…whatever mess I’m in.”

Maybe if she stared at Annie long enough, she’d spot a smirk.

After a while, the prospect lost some of its appeal. “Anyway,” she skimmed the pages again, trying to find where she left off. _“So the Lord scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. That is why it was called Babel—because there the Lord confused the language of the whole world.”_ She snorted, mindlessly returning to thumbing through the pages. “That wasn’t very nice. He just separated them. Look what problems that caused. Tension. Confusion. War. Not the best move. He wasn't thinking long term.”

She looked back down at Annie again, this time going as far as to take her hand. Unlike with Mikasa, Sasha made sure her grip was light, almost like she wasn’t there. “I hope you wake up soon, dude,” Sasha mumbled, failing to fight the urge to squeeze her hand. “You heard the story I just read, yeah? We’re no good separated. We’re no good on different pages. So you gotta wake up.”

Dropping Annie’s hand, Sasha cradled her head in her palms, resting her elbows on her knees; the bible balanced precariously on he lap. “I just wish I felt that way about my dad.” She sighed, moving her hands to run through her hair and rub her aching temples. “I haven’t seen him in so long. It’s almost like we’ve always been separated. I don’t know if reuniting makes any sense. I don’t know if I can handle it.” Suddenly, she threw her head back, ignoring the pain in her neck at the awkward angle as she stared up at the stucco ceiling. “Fuck. My life is so melodramatic. I’m sure you’d use a….meaner, more accurate word.”

Without Annie to answer, the room was silent, save for that damn _beeping_ of her heart monitor. While she appreciated that hearing it meant Annie was still alive, it also reminded her that they needed it because Annie wasn’t okay enough to tell people her heart was still beating strong. “It seems so simple. Just go and talk to him, right? But it’s not simple. It’s hard. ” She groaned again. “I wish....” She have her hand another squeeze. "....I wish I cared about myself like I cared about you guys."

Only this time, Annie squeezed _back_.

This was straight out of a sappy soap opera. It was both excellent and annoyingly cliché but hey, she'd take it. “Annie?” To make sure it wasn’t a dream, Sasha squeezed her hand once more and again, Annie squeezed back. “Annie! Are you awake? Can you hear me? Can you speak? Say something if you can speak.”

She waited for what felt like an hour—in retrospect, Sasha still had no idea exactly how long she waited. “Awake.”

Picking her metaphorical jaw off the floor, Sasha bounced across the room and ripped the door of her hospital room open. “Nurse? NURSE.”

The nurse who had let her in, Isabel, came running from her station. “What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing past Sasha to get inside the room.

This was unreal. This was fucking unreal. Where was the camera crew? This had to be a plot twist of cinematic proportions. “Nothing!” Sasha grinned ear to ear. “She squeezed my hand! She talked! She’s awake!”

For a moment the nurse just stared at her. “Well, yes. I assumed you knew that.”

Wait.

What?

“Huh?” Sasha squawked. “What do you mean…? She’s been in a coma for two weeks…?”

The nurse’s skeptical stare turned into full on confusion, taking her chart of the end of Annie’s bed.. “Miss Leonhart woke up early this morning,” she glanced at the papers. “Around 9. So you didn't know?”

_Tha T was 12 fC Kkin hour s aGO !!!!!!_

She was going to lose her goddamn mind.

No. She most certainly did not know.  It would have been very helpful information. “Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?” Bertolt was going to get a phone call about _punctuality_  when it came to relaying information. Sasha blinked before she turned sharply on her heel and ran back to the chair beside Annie’s bedside. The nurse followed, her steps slower and calmer as she explained to keep her language as concise as possible when trying to talk with her. “Annie. Yes or No. Do you understand everything I’m saying?” Sasha asked.

Her answer was much quicker this time. “Yes.”

“Did you hear everything I was saying before?”

“Yes.”

Sasha pouted. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

It took longer for that response, and Sasha could definitely see the calculated effort in her answer. “You keep talking.”

Well, she guessed that was fair.

Annie made a few grunting noises before she tried opening her eyes; she immediately closed them, groaning louder. “She’s really disoriented, the light probably doesn’t help,” Isabel told her. “But otherwise, I’m quite impressed with what’s she already been able to do. She can’t really move much yet, but the use of her motor skills is a good sign.”

“Baby.” Annie eventually said as soon as Isabel stopped talking.

Awww, Annie was so cute! “Yes, sweetie?”

Annie grunted.  “Baby. Mikasa.”

“Oh!” Sasha really should have picked up on that. “I don’t know. She’s still in labor. But I’ll let you know as soon as I find out, okay?”

Annie hummed. “Money too.”

That, she picked up on pretty damn quickly. “You ain’t gettin’ no money, ‘cause you ain’t winnin’ the bet!”

She swore, she fucking _swore_ Annie was smirking. “Moonshine.”

Always a jab at her accent; she was glad to know getting her brain ping-ponged in her head hadn’t changed her personality. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad you’re awake and everything, but fuck you.” The nurse gave her a strange look as Sasha fished out her phone. “I know you’re tired, Ann, but try and stay awake for like 45 more seconds.”

“No.” Annie whined.

“Come on, you can do it!” The phone rang a few times before she heard Historia’s shrill ass voice on the other end pick up. _“Sasha! I was just about to call you! Mikasa had her baby! Everything went just fine.”_

“Really!?” Sasha squealed, and the entire sound was completely foreign to her own ears. When was the last time she outright squealed? “That’s great! Is it a boy or a girl?”

_“Don’t know yet, Carla just came out and told us. Now, where did you run off to?”_

This day was just getting better and better. “Oh, I went upstairs. Hey, put your phone on speaker, I got a surprise,” she instructed, turning her own on and leaning down, placing the microphone as close to Annie’s mouth as possible. “Is it on?”

 _“Yeah, it’s on speaker.”_ That was Ymir. “ _What do you want?”_

“I don’t want anything. I just thought someone else might want to say hello,” Sasha explained. Annie made a few incoherent mumbling noises before she finally thought her voice strong enough to say, “Hello.”

_“Uh….hello? Who is this?”_

Sasha sighed, frustrated. This would have been a lot cooler if Annie’s voice was more recognizable and didn’t sound like she’d been smoking cigarettes for 30 years. “Try again,” she stage whispered.

Annie’s eyes were still closed, but Sasha figured they were rolling inside her head behind her lids. “Annie. I’m awake,” she grimaced with the effort.

 _“ANNIE!????? Annie, you’re there?”_ The decibel level was high enough to scare the phone right out of Sasha's hands and it fell to the floor with a thud. There was general squabbling in the background, and they could hear the distinct tone of Connie and Armin’s voices as well as she picked it back up. “ _Sasha, don’t mess with me. Is Annie really awake?”_

“Yes!” Sasha exclaimed happily. She looked up to have the nurse give confirmation, but she slipped out in the time she’d made the phone call. “Apparently the nerd woke up a few hours ago, but she didn’t so much as send a text,” she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Inexcusable, really.”

“Sleeping,” Annie hissed weakly, and Sasha laughed.

“Okay, yeah,” Sasha remedied, “She’s probably been sleeping most of the day. But at least you can wake her up from her naps, so I’d say it’s a major improvement.”

 _“I’ll say!”_ That was Ymir. _“Annie, get down here and see the baby!”_

Annie didn’t answer for a while. “Can’t.” The one worded answers were a little annoying, but hey, Sasha would take what she would get.

“We’ll have to bring the baby to her,” Sasha revised.

Ymir hissed loudly over the phone. _“Can’t…really do that either.”_

“Why the hell not?”

There was some commotion before Sasha could tell the phone was taken off speaker. “ _Okay_ ,” That was Connie. _“So the baby’s surprisingly healthy, but, it’s still pretty small, so the doctors are going to put it in the NICU for a few days to keep it warm and make sure it doesn’t catch an infection or anything. They do that with most preemie babies.”_

That…didn’t sound right at all. “Did you just...Did you just say they put the baby in NCIS? I do not doubt this child’s a genius, but it is only one day old. I don’t exactly think it can keep up with Gibbs.”

Connie was laughing? Choking? Trying not to yet doing both? “ _No,”_ he wheezed, _“No not NCIS. NICU.”_ Ymir’s obnoxious laugh could be heard in the background, no doubt at Sasha’s expense. _“Neonatal intensive care.”_

Okay, that made a lot more sense. “I’m sorry, I’m so tired,” she laughed as means of explanation.

_“I know, babe. We’ll get you a nap soon.”_

“Right,” she glanced down at Annie and even though she didn’t appear any different, Sasha figured she probably had gone back to sleep. Either way, she needed her rest. “I’ll be down in a minute.” When she hung up the phone, she gave Annie one last smile before leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I’ll see you again soon. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Turned out she wasn’t quite asleep; she caught her last mumbled words before she left the room.

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you think she’ll name it?”

Sasha stood alongside Armin and Connie, as well as her other roommates, at the glass wall looking into the NICU. She could see Eren standing beside one of the incubators, but the baby was nearly too small to see; Mikasa was back in her room, sleeping, and they were waiting until she woke up to go in and see her.

“Connie Junior,” Connie whispered wistfully, and Ymir reached all the way over Armin to smack him in the shoulder. “Or Connie Juniorette!” he corrected, turning his head to mouth an “ow” at Sasha. “It’s whatever. It’s all good.”

“Hey,” All four of them turned their head to see Carla walking toward them, smiling. Her walk was proof of her exhaustion as she stopped and stood before them, looking inside at her son talking to his baby. “Mikasa’s awake. Says you girls can go in, if you like. I think she could use some help on deciding a name for her daughter.”

Awwww, hell yeah.

“YESSSSSS!” Okay, yeah sure, it was a hospital and everything in which _quiet_ was probably preferable, but Sasha had just gotten 300 dollars richer so yelling was an absolute necessity. "I AM THE VICTOR!!!!!!" Carla covered her ears while Armin shushed her pointlessly. Sasha put her hand out, palm up. “Pay _up_ , bitches.”

“Fuck,” Ymir cursed quietly, fishing out her wallet and slapping a few twenties in Sasha’s hand. “I was so sure it was going to be a boy. I thought with all our estrogen in the apartment, the universe would try and balance it out.”

Sasha was thoroughly amused when Historia didn’t have any cash and had to write out a check, stealing a pen off a nurse and everything. “Same,” she sighed, ripping the check out and slapping it into Sasha’s hand as well. “I guess it just…absorbed all our estrogen?” Armin mumbled something about how _“That’s not how science worked.”_

Connie however, was still all smiles as he gave her his money. “Fair and square. But that’s the last time I bet 100 dollars on anything.”

“Thank you,” she said smugly, shoving all the cash into her bra; she flipped her ponytail before the girls raced each other back to Mikasa’s hospital room.

 

* * *

 

“Mikasa, you won’t believe how much richer I am,” Sasha announced, strolling through the doorway with pride.

Mikasa smiled a bit and tried sitting up a little straighter in her bed; her eyes were staring at Sasha’s chest. “Seeing as your left boob went from a B to a lumpy C, I’m assuming you won the bet.”

She beamed. “Did I ever!” She barked out a victorious laugh. “I’m always bettin’ on the ladies,” she explained, throwing in a wink that made Mikasa laugh.

“So,” Ymir rubbed her hands together and sat back down in the seat she had been using earlier in the day, “Let’s name the girl. I know it’s awkward, but we should probably cross my name off the list,” she shrugged. “Don’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.”

Sasha couldn’t imagine anyone other than Dalia naming their kid _Ymir._ “How did your parents even arrive at the decision to name you after a Norse monster?”

Ymir looked just as baffled as the rest of them. “I have no idea. She’s a damn hippie.”

“It is kind of strange,” Historia agreed solemnly, ignoring her girlfriend’s dirty looks. “There’s tons of common names derived from mythology. Like Diana! She was a goddess. Or…” she faltered. “Uh…..”

Ymir smacked her lips together. “Yeah, that’s…that’s pretty much it.” 

“No, no, there’s more!” Historia whined, snapping her fingers, trying to dig out whatever names she believed to be stored in her brain. “There’s Phoebe! People name their kids Phoebe, right?”

Sasha scrunched her broken nose (ow). “Not since, like….the 1950s.”

But Historia still had a few more. “There’s also Rhea! That’s kinda pretty.” Her blue eyes went wide. “Oh yeah! The most important one! J—“

“Juno!” Sasha exclaimed, stealing the punch line. How could they forget Juno? “Oh, that’s incredible. Mikasa, name her Juno. I’ll give you all the money in my bra if you name her Juno.”

The funny thing was, Mikasa looked…thoughtful. Like she was actually considering it. Like. Actually Actually. Considering it for real. Like they could walk out of his hospital with a kid named Juno Ackerman and it would be the greatest thing in the entire world. “Hmm….”

“You got to be kidding,” Ymir moaned. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering it.”

Her voice pitched up very slightly. “Well…”

“We were _joking!”_

Mikasa frowned. “Calm down, will you? The thing is I do actually like it. Or well, part of it.”

Sasha was embarrassed at how long it took her to figure out what she meant. After all, “Juno” only had two fucking syllables for Christ’s sake. “…June?”

“Mhhmm.”

Ymir looked….offended. “You’re going to name her after a _month?”_

“You’re named after a hairy _giant!”_ Sasha laughed. “You don’t get to make fun of anyone’s name, like, ever.”

“But it’s February! This baby will be very confused.”

“Were you ever confused why you were human and not some ugly mythological creature?” She pointed to Historia. “Was Historia ever confused about being named after the Italian word for History? I don’t think she ever grew up thinking she was a school subject.”

“It’s Spanish, not Italian.”

“Same thing.”

The long pause was indicative of Sasha’s win. “…okay, fine, fair point.” Ymir huffed, slapping her hands on her knees in frustration. “I yield.”

“There, that’s settled!” Sasha declared, hands on her lips in a victory pose. “Little June Alexandra Ackerman. What a cutie.”

Almost. She almost snuck that in. But of course, it didn’t slide. “June _Elizabeth_ Ackerman,” Mikasa emphasized, and Sasha’s posture sagged. Worth a shot. “...will probably be happy she has a name.”

That was so not fair. Sasha gave her a perfectly good Russian czarina to name her after and Mikasa goes and picks an English queen. The audacity. “Fine. But you’re missing out. People named Alexandra are _awesome_.”

Mikasa shifted in her bed, fingers playing with the edges of her bed sheets. “Just curious, but why did your parents pick that name?”

Sasha hummed, picking at her nails. “I dunno. I never asked Papa. He always just called me Sasha, anyway.” It was strange. If he was always going to call her Sasha, why not name her “Sasha”? Parents were so strange.

“Hey,” and Sasha lifted her head at the odd tone in Historia’s voice, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call him that.”

Embarrassed, she slumped back down and tried to hide her blush. “Yeah, well,” she shrugged. “Gotta call him something.”

A quiet crept up in the room and Sasha didn’t even have to look to know all her roommates were staring at her expectantly. This was it. She was the final piece of the puzzle. Historia had made amends, Ymir had made amends, Mikasa had made amends, Annie…well, when she could walk again, she’d make amends. Sasha was the only one left.

“Have you called him?” Mikasa finally asked, and Sasha knew it was childish, but she rolled her eyes and whined.

“No. Of course I haven’t. You know I haven’t.”

“Sasha, if I may?” It was hard to get angry at Historia’s honey sweet voice, but Sasha was certainly trying her hardest to find reasons to be annoyed. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it was.” Sasha whipped her head up, not able to fight the curiosity, and waited. “I mean,” Historia continued, “Standing in front of that audience and exposing all the lies? Talking to my dad afterwards? I thought it would be impossible. But it wasn’t. You showed me that it wasn’t impossible.”

While touched, Sasha felt the need to point out, “I’m glad you feel that way but this isn’t the same thing.”

From the far end of the room, Ymir scoffed. “You _got_ to stop saying that,” She got up from her chair and started walking over. “Tori’s right. It’s never as hard as you think it is. I thought it would be disastrous telling my parents about school.”

“Well, if you think back,” Sasha interrupted, “It kind of was.”

Ymir didn’t seem phased in the slightest. “Maybe at first, but actually having a civil conversation wasn’t so bad. We came up with a solution.”

“Even I worked things out,” Mikasa whispered. Sasha felt her hand on her arm, but she refused to look over. “I think…I think me and Eren are going to be okay.”

“Of course you are,” Sasha said on instinct.

“You’re going to be okay, too.”

Finally, Sasha whipped her head up. “It’s not the same!” She already felt heavy tears rolling down her tears. “I’m _dying.”_

“You don’t _know_ that,” Ymir pointed out. She sounded desperate. “Please. You can’t go on like this.”

She took a shuddering breath. “My story isn’t going to turn out like yours. Mine doesn’t have a happy ending like all of yours. No new colleges, no new names, no new babies. Hell, It's not even as good as waking up from a coma like Annie did! Mine sucks. My dad dies, I die. Someone’s got to die. We fight and make up and then he leaves again and I regret it. Or, we never talk again he dies and I still regret it! It doesn’t matter! Everything’s fucked. So why bother?” She turned on her heel, falling out of Mikasa’s touch and went over to the wall, knocking her forehead against the window. “I don’t think I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

That wasn’t one of the girls. She turned her head and saw Eren at the door with a nurse and a wheelchair, intent on taking Mikasa to the NICU to see her daughter. “You’ve got all of them,” Eren added, nodding to her roommates.

“Yeah,” Historia said meekly. The nurse rolled the wheelchair beside Mikasa’s bed while Eren went over and picked her up, putting her in the chair. “We’ll be here to help you. We won’t make you do it alone.”

“She’s right,” Ymir said. “You don’t have to shoulder all this by yourself. We’re strong too. We’ll carry the weight.”

Sasha wiped at eyes, and rubbed at her nose, forgetting again that it was broken, which just made her cry and whimper more. “What the fuck is this,” she lamented. “An episode of Gilmore Girls?”

Eren wheeled Mikasa’s wheelchair over to Sasha. “He’s here, you know. At the hospital. Getting his trial medication.” Eren said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small piece of paper. He grabbed her hand and put the paper in her palm, gently rolling her fingers around it, making her hold it. “It’s going to be okay.”

She opened the piece of paper and sighed.

A room number. Her father’s room number.

“….alright.”

Eren smiled and wheeled Mikasa on her way out of the hospital room, only to have her shoot both hands out on the door frame; the wheelchair came to a screeching halt and Eren almost tripped over the back of the chair. 

"Wait," Mikasa yelped, turning her head back. "...Did you say Annie woke up from her coma?"

Oh yeah.

"...I knew I was forgetting to tell you  _something..."_

 

* * *

 

“I changed my mind, I can’t do this.”

To Connie’s credit, Sasha had said this about 20 times in the last ten minutes and he hadn’t even come close to snapping at her. “Yes you can,” he reassured her for the twentieth time. Again, he put her hand on the door handle. “The nurses are expecting you. They said you can go in whenever you’re ready.”

That was the whole point. She clutched the white envelope in her hand, giving it yet another crease—her blood work had just come back, and yet the paper was so worn, it looked like she’d had it for months. “I’m not ready.”

“Yes you are,” Connie reiterated. “Just go on in.”

Stall, stall, stall. “…what do I say?”

He shook his head, giving a breathless laugh. His exasperation was finally starting to show. “Whatever you want to say.”

This wasn’t helpful. “What if it’s _mean?”_

“Are you _looking_ to be mean?”

“No, of course not!”

Connie shrugged. “Then it’s going to be just fine. Go on,” he grabbed her arm, mindful of her bandage before he gave her one last little nudge. “I’ll be right out here when you’re done.”

She could feel her blood pumping through her ears. “…can’t you come in with me?”

Sadly, he shook his head. “Not this time. Just you.” He leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips, before he took a few steps back, letting go completely. "Go."

Hand shaking, she opened the door.

For a moment, she just stood at the doorway, staring. Her father looked a lot different than she remembered, but at the same time, he looked the same. His hair was thinner, no longer reddish brown but completely grey. His face had finer wrinkles around his mouth, and if he was asleep like she thought he was, the last eight years or so had gotten rid of his snoring.

But then his eyes opened. Those--even from across the room--looked the same.

He looked at her for the longest time like she wasn’t real, like he was trying to convince himself he was dreaming. “Hello?” His voice was choppy and the word came out in several syllables. “Nurse?”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “No,” she closed the door behind her. “It’s me. Alexandra.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “Sasha?” Yet, even with his speech problems, her name came out almost perfectly. It sounded just like she remembered. It sounded like he practiced it every day so he wouldn’t forget.

“Yeah,” she croaked, walking towards the bed with tentative steps. “I’m here. Sorry it took so long to get here,” she wiped at her eyes. “Traffic was hell.”

He laughed at her joke. She hadn't seen him in eight years, ignored him for three, and he was still _laughing_ at her jokes. “T-that’s All…All right,” he smiled. There were tears in his eyes as well. “Sasha?”

“Yeah, Papa?” She whispered, stopping to stand right beside his bed.

He swallowed several, several times, and there was a determination on his face that she hadn’t seen since she was a child. Nodding to himself, encouraging himself, he said clear as day:

“I love you.”

A hiccup wracked through her body, a tremor that broke the dam of everything she had been keeping bottled up inside. Ugly tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook violently, one hand slapped over her eyes as she nearly _screamed_ with agony. But she managed to say it back.

“I love you too, Papa.”

With a shaky arm, he reached and struggled to find her hand; she grasped it firmly, lacing her fingers with his.

His hand was warm.

 

* * *

 

_Patient: Sasha Braus_

_Huntington’s: Negative_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH!!!!! AHHHHH!!!! IT'S DONE!!!! IT'S ACTUALLY DONE!!!!
> 
> ....SIKE. 
> 
> Well, kinda. There's going to be a disgustingly charming and fluffy epilogue because really??? all of this hype with that baby and there's not even a scene of them holding the baby so yes there's going to be a cute ass epilogue to fill all your fluff needs. Even thought I think parts of this last chapter were very...cheesy...fuck....well it's fanfic I will do what I want, ENJOY THE GROSS CLICHES THEY'RE HAPPY AND CUTE!!!!!!!! (I personally think the Tower of Babel shit was suuuuuuuper cheesy but I wanted it in there so FUCK IT yeah I love cheesy shit lmao)
> 
> Hopefully the epilogue will be up in a week or two! 'til then! I'll save my giant thank you speech until then lmao


	17. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is wow this took forever.  
> warning: shiT TON OF SPRINGLEs my god so much springles.

_April 12th_

For the first time in a good few days, Sasha woke to the sound of crying.

June wasn’t a particularly fussy baby; sure, she woke up crying in the middle of the night every once in a while, but for the most part Eren and Mikasa got an....adequate amount of sleep. As much as new parents could really get.

But Sasha also knew that the past couple of days or so had probably been the hardest ones for those two since June was born. For the past several weeks or so, the two of them had been so focused on taking care of June that their status of their relationship was put on the shelf. Sometimes Mikasa stayed over at the Yeager’s, but it was more often that Eren just stayed in their apartment. Sasha didn’t mind, not really—especially with Connie being around more, their apartment became a center for well, everything, and having all sorts of people around was kinda…nice. But a couple of days ago, Carla must have made a point that the two of them should try to find a _permanent_ living situation. Because truthfully, even Sasha knew this whole back and forth thing wasn’t going to hold up for very long.

The whole thing was pretty stressful.

Figuring Mikasa and Eren could use a few more minutes of sleep, Sasha decided she’d see if she could help the baby with whatever it needed. Padding quietly out of her room towards the nursery, she noticed that there was a dim light from the living room, and assumed someone had fallen asleep studying again.

Sasha opened the door to the nursery as slowly as possible (the door hinges squeaked like a bitch). June was whimpering and flailing around in her crib, not sobbing, but definitely not happy.

“Aww, what’s the matter sweet girl?” Sasha cooed, reaching down into her crib to pick her up and coddle her to her chest. “There, there, it’s alright,” she shushed gently, rocking her up and down. She eyed the rocking chair in the corner. “You want to rock in the chair?” The baby stopped fussing for a fraction of a second, and Sasha took that as a yes.

The rocking seemed to quiet June down a bit to the point where she wasn’t going to wake anyone, but Sasha could still tell she was uncomfortable. “What’s wrong, huh?”

“You know she can’t answer, right?”

Sasha looked up and noticed Annie leaning heavily on the doorway. Even in the shadows, Sasha could see her knuckles bleached white from the death-grip she had on her cane. “Annie,” her name came out in a breathless whisper, “You’re not in the wheelchair!”

“Yeah,” Annie grunted through grit teeth, “And I’ll be honest, I’m struggling. I need to sit down, please.”

Baby still clinging to her chest, Sasha jumped out and made sure to leave plenty of room for Annie to make it to the chair. It was a slow, painful process, but Annie made it all on her own, sitting down in the chair with a sigh of relief. “I thought I could go without the chair,” she admitted woefully, letting her head fall back. Setting the cane against the crib she added, “Guess it’s going to take longer than I hoped.”

“You didn’t fall on your ass, now did you?” Sasha grinned, bouncing June up and down in her arms, which she seemed to like. “I’d call that a success.”

“I suppose you have a point,” she shrugged, lifting her arms up and motioning for Sasha to hand over the baby. Hoping Annie would have better luck than her, she did as she wanted. It only took Annie holding June for 4 seconds before she figured out why she was so fussy. “Her diaper needs changed.”

Oh. That made sense. “I can do that.”

“Can you?”

“I’ve seen Mikasa do it, so yeah, I can do it.”

“Maybe you should go grab Historia.”

Before Sasha could say _no_ there was no need to wake Historia, she appeared at the doorway herself. Swallowing a scream, her hand over her chest in shock, Sasha whispered, “Jesus, I thought you were asleep.”

“Trying,” Historia yawned. “But that’s alright. I should probably be studying more, anyway.” How Historia managed these all-nighters with surprising grace, none of them would ever really know. “I heard she needs a diaper change? You want me to do it?”

“Yes,” Annie said softly, trying to remember to keep her voice down. Historia came over and plucked the fussy baby from her arms. “And while you’re at it, go ahead and change June’s, too.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Sasha sneered. “Very funny.”

Historia bumped her hip ever so gently with Sasha’s. “C’mon, I’ll teach you.”

They weren’t the best at keeping their voices down while they changed June’s diaper (okay, so _Sasha_ wasn’t the best. Historia was too tired to make her voice anything louder than a whisper) but somehow Historia still managed to teach Sasha how to properly change a diaper. The adhesive straps ended up sitting a little crooked, but otherwise, Sasha thought it was a damn good job.

“Nice tag teaming, bruh!” Sasha shouted a little too loudly, but Historia returned her high five all the same.

“You do realize it’s 3 am and you’re shouting, right?”

Ymir stood at the doorway, looking just as tired as her girlfriend but not nearly as happy. Her hair was a frazzled mess that she still fisted in one hand when she yawned, scratching her scalp. “Historia, I’ve come to collect your ass and send you to bed.”

She rolled her eyes. “My test isn’t until 2, so I can sleep in.”

“Don’t care,” she yawned again, walking into the nursery. Her grumpy face melted at the sight of June, and she gave the baby a little wave. “Hi, pretty girl.”

Sasha pouted, picking up the baby and holding her close. “Ymir, how come you don’t sweet talk me like that?”

“Why would I tell you things that aren’t true?”

“Wow. Rude.” Sasha looked down at the baby and saw that she had finally stopped fussing, even giving a bit of a smile. “Mimi is a meanie, ain’t she precious?”

“Okay, no, don’t teach her that nickname,” Ymir begged.

Historia reached up and slapped her girlfriend lightly on the arm. “Oh, hush up. It’s not like the baby can retain anything at this age.”

Ymir rolled her eyes. “Well, I know, but there’s no need to start forming habits.” Sasha didn’t even have the energy to explain to her that ship had sailed long, long ago. “The last thing I need is for this kid to think my name is actually Mimi.”

Annie started rocking back and forth in the chair. “At this rate June’s not even going to know her _own_ name if you keep calling her “precious” or “baby angel” or whatever gross nicknames you guys come up with.”

“Aww, Annie!” Sasha cooed, “If you were jealous, all you had to do was say. I’ll sweet talk you anytime,” she winked, puckering her lips and making noises.

Ymir played along instantly. “We still love you, cupcake.”

“Stop it,” Annie groaned, covering her face with one hand.

“Honeybunches,” Historia chimed in, and the three of them started creeping in the corner towards Annie, Sasha still holding June snugly.

“Sunflower.”

“Cookie Crumb.”

“Guys, seriously, cut it out.”

“Baby Doll.”

“Pumpkin Pie.”

“Seriously, _stop,”_ but even all the girls could see the grin that Annie was fighting. It was, however, immediately wiped clean when the three of them invaded her personal space and littered her cheeks with kisses. “Ymir!” she snarled when she had snagged a peck on the lips

Ymir barely got a retort out about how she should be grateful that she’s gotten one of her kisses when the baby started fussing again. “Great,” Annie sighed. “Look what you all have done.”

There was a knock on the open nursery door and the girls turned their heads to see Eren, eyes a bit droopy and hair definitely more wild than Ymir’s. He squinted while looking at them. “Do you guys do this all the time?” His confusion was apparent as he scratched at his cheek. “Meet up in the middle of the night in the nursery?”

Sasha ignored was more or less a rhetorical question. A joke about a cult initiation died on her tongue. “I heard June crying and thought I might be able to get her to stop before you guys woke up.”

“While that’s very sweet,” he said, his words almost entirely lost in a mumble, “She’s probably hungry, so she’ll need Mikasa.”

“Sorry, babe,” Sasha looked down at the baby and frowned. “I don’t have the tits for that job.”

Eren took his daughter from Sasha’s arms, and for a moment she was lost in how _gentle_ he was. Well, of course, they were all gentle with the baby (it’s a baby) but Eren’s moves were slower and more practiced. He looked at her like he still couldn’t believe she was here and to some extent, Sasha understood that. She and all her roommates had months to adjust to the idea of Mikasa having a baby—Eren didn’t. He swayed back and forth and mumbled words she couldn’t catch; for a shining moment, June looked up and babbled with a happy smile; Eren’s was nothing short of blinding in return.

So lost in their interaction, Sasha didn’t notice that the other girls had left the nursery until she heard Annie’s cane hit the hardwood in the hallway. “You can go to bed too, you know,” Eren whispered, still smiling at June as he rocked her back and forth.

“Yeah,” Sasha murmured in return, but she didn’t move from her spot. “Eren?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s it like?”

He finally looked up, brow furrowed in confusion, but his sleep deprived mind caught up. “Tiring,” he chuckled, and Sasha knew the bag under his eyes spoke for themselves. “But it’s good,” he looked back down at June, gaze a little more studious. “It’s strange—I thought she might look a little like me. At least the darker skin, but she looks _nothing_ like me. She looks exactly like Mikasa.”

“Thank God,” Sasha teased.

Eren, however, seemed to agree. “I know. I’m not the easiest on the eyes,” he joked back. “Besides, her mom’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Wow. Eren was super gross.

That aside, “It’s….” He trailed off with a sigh. “Different.” He shrugged, looking back up at Sasha. “Everything’s different.”

It was the answer she knew he’d give, but Sasha didn’t like the way it sounded. “Everything’s different,” she repeated under her breath. She continued to watch him coddle June and she began to think this girl was going to be the most spoiled kid on the fucking planet. She thought of her growing up on Eren’s farmhouse with plenty of space to run around, with that big tree to climb up in the front yard. She pictured her chasing chickens and plucking flowers and playing with Totoro and the other cats in the living room.

But no matter how much Sasha tried, she couldn’t picture June growing up _here._ Because it wasn’t meant to be.

“You and Mikasa are going to move out, aren’t you?”

Eren smiled sadly. “One day. We’re still trying to work things out between us but one day…yeah. But…” he looked back down at June and smiled, a smile that didn’t match the melancholy of his words. “You all will, eventually.”

It hit her like a ton of bricks. The five of them couldn’t be together forever. Historia would go to law school and Ymir would get a job doing films and Annie would take baby steps back into a life of regulated sports and helping athletes. And as for Sasha? She had plans to travel and explore, as well as picking up the phone and giving Papa a call or two along the way.

So yeah, they wouldn’t be together forever. But that was okay.

“Eventually,” Sasha parroted back. Her voice sounded even sleepier than she thought.

“Sasha? What are you doing up?”

She jumped nearly 10 feet in the air, hand clutched over her chest when she saw Mikasa standing at the doorway. “For _God’s sake_ why does everyone insist on scaring the living daylights out of me?”

Mikasa was frowning, hand braced on the doorframe, the other holding the front of her nightshirt. “You look upset.”

“Well, I’m tired, so,” she laughed humorlessly, too tired to really make anything more of the joke. “Just…” she took a few steps forward and embraced Mikasa, taking her by surprise. She hadn’t actually hugged Mikasa much but Sasha appreciated the lack of baby bump as she clung to her as closely as possible.

She didn’t even question it as she wrapped her arms around Sasha, going the extra mile to run her hand up and down her back. “What’s this for?”

“Nothing,” she sighed, pulling away, finally smiling. She pushed some of her black hair behind her ear. “I guess I’m just gonna miss you, is all.”

A mind reader, that girl. “It’s not like I’ll be far,” she assured, taking a few steps back as Eren came over and handed her a fussing June who was about to start crying. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered, eyes on her daughter; the words were whispered for June, but Sasha knew they were meant for her as well.

“She’s probably hungry,” Eren murmured, words lost in her hair as he presses his lips to the top of her head. Mikasa hummed in response, lifting her head a bit. Sasha half expected Eren to give her a kiss right on the lips but instead he planted a feather soft one to her cheek.

If Mikasa was going to feed the baby, Sasha decided she’d probably like a little privacy. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” Sasha almost yawned, trudging out of the room when she got no verbal response in return. She turned back only once to see Eren lean down and kiss June’s head, just as he did with Mikasa.

She wandered out into the living room, surprised to see that the lamp was still on and Annie was on one of the couches, Historia leaning down in front of her, a hand on her knee. “I got tired,” Annie chuckled, clearly embarrassed.

“She won’t let me help her get to bed,” Historia smiled despite her reprimanding tone.

She shot her an exasperated look. “I’ll _get_ there just give me a few minutes. Honestly.”

Ymir came wandering out of her bedroom, the comforter from her bed wrapped around her like a cape. “Historia,” she whined, “You might not be tired, but I could sleep for the both of us so would you _please_ get your ass in bed?”

This was nice. The thing was Sasha shouldn’t have found it nice. The entire apartment was awake at 3 in the morning, be it whiny babies or old fighting wounds. Everyone had bags under their eyes big enough to carry groceries and her headache was _real._ But Sasha was happy. She was the happiest she had ever been, just being around with her friends. And the realization that Mikasa and Eren would move out, the realization that they would eventually separate and live their lives made her heart ache, this terrible burn in the middle of her chest.

She wanted to stay with them as long as possible.

Slowly, Sasha shuffled over and leaned heavily against Ymir; she tugged roughly on the comforter. “Let’s have a sleepover out here.”

“Out here?” Ymir snorted. “Like, on the ground?” When Sasha nodded, she rolled her eyes. “If you want the company, just crawl into bed with me,” she said, shooting Historia a dirty look. “God knows she won’t go to bed anytime soon.”

Sasha shook her head. “No, we all won’t fit in your bed,” she whined, rubbing her head back and forth into her shoulder. “I want to sleep out here. All of us.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t know how many more opportunities we’ll have to do it.”

Ymir was uncharacteristically silent; not a huff, not a snort, not even a heavy sigh. Wordlessly, she wrapped the comforter around Sasha and pointed to the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Go move everything, I’ll go get some more pillows and blankets.”

“Yay!”

Annie seemed to give up on the idea of getting back to her bedroom on her own and moved to lie down on the couch. Historia put one of the couch pillows under her head, only to have Ymir come by and replace it with a pillow from Annie’s bed. “I grabbed your comforter too,” Ymir said quietly, wrapping her snuggly in the bright white blanket.

“This is degrading,” Annie complained, which only led to Ymir tightening the blankets around her.

“What would be degrading is if you fell off the couch and couldn’t get back up,” Ymir snickered, probably at the mental image in her head. “Gotta make sure you don’t fall out, Ann.” Totoro, who heard all the commotion, came out decided that the best place to fall asleep was right on top of Annie.

With the coffee table pushed far away, Historia and Sasha covered the floor in their collective comforters and pillows. Sasha quickly made a move to take the spot closest to the couch Annie was on. “We should do this all the time!” she declared, wiggling out a tired smile from Historia as she snuggled beside her, and Ymir beside her.

“We will, nerd. We’re not all gone yet,” Ymir mumbled, reaching one arm above her head to play with some of Sasha’s hair.  

“Goodnight,” Historia mumbled, resting her head on Sasha’s chest.

Trying to ignore the blonde hair in her mouth, Sasha reached up and waved around, feeling for Annie’s hand. “Your hand will fall asleep,” Annie warned as she started to pet the cat on her chest with one hand.

“So will the rest of me, so it doesn’t matter.”

When she laughed, it was the first one Sasha had heard that didn’t have any traces of pain since she returned from the hospital. Annie took Sasha’s hand and gave it a faint squeeze—she squeezed back, holding it tight while she tried to go to sleep.

Only when she heard the pitter-patter of footsteps, the distinct noise of the lamp being clicked off, and the feeling of one last blanket being placed over all of them did Sasha start to fall asleep. She knew exactly who it was. “Goodnight, Mikasa.”

“Goodnight, Sasha.”

 

* * *

.

_Bolivia: 4.5 years later_

_._

* * *

 

 

In hindsight, Connie’s suggestion that they spilt up to try and get directions was definitely an okay plan: for _him._ But for Sasha, she was struggling. There was this whole….how to explain this…Ah, yes…

Sasha couldn’t speak Spanish.

At first she thought it wouldn’t be that big of an obstacle; surely there was _one_ other person in the city of La Paz who could speak English, tourist or local, but after 15 minutes Sasha found that wasn’t going to be a realistic expectation. The most frustrating part was that people were nice, and she was able to hold their attention; they would try to understand what she was saying, but in the end, she had to result to hand gestures and noises that she thought resembled airplanes.

It wasn’t much of a success.

“Lo siento, señorita, no entiendo.”

She sighed. She didn’t know what that meant, but in the months they’d spent in South America, she did know the word for “sorry”, which meant this man, would be the 6th person who was unable to understand her. However, he wasn’t really walking away and genuinely looked like he would be willing to give her a chance to explain herself. “I don’t know where the airport is?” Sasha asked again. The man just blinked. “Umm….I need…” God, fuck, what was the word in Spanish? “Oh!” Sasha suddenly declared, snapping her fingers. “Necesita…No, uh, necesito! ¡Necesito directions, por favor!”

“¡Ah!” The man smiled at her. “¿Usted necesita direcciones? ¿A dónde?

Yes, finally! Maybe this would work. Digging into the back pocket of her jeans, she fished out a worn out map and unfolded it, pointing to the where she knew the airport in La Paz to be. “I need…necesito….to get to the airport?” She was almost there! Almost! What was the word Connie used? “Um….aueropuerto! Donde is the…aueropuerto?”

The man’s eyes lit up. “¡Sí, sí!” He gestured for the map in Sasha’s hands. “Dame.”  Standing beside her, he grabbed one half of the map to help hold it up. “Bien, ¿ve usted este carretero? Estamos aquí. Si usted quiere llegar al aeropuerto, tomar este camino y luego gire a la izquierda en el segundo semáforo, ¿lo entiendes?”

Shit.

“Uhh, sí”

Goddamn it.

The man continued to smile. “Bien. ¿El segundo semáforo, recuerda que sí? Después de eso, sigues adelante por la avenida. Verás una rampa de la autopista. ¿Autopista, sí?

She was never ever ever getting to that fucking airport. Ever. At least not on her own. She just hoped Connie would come back soon.

The man so kindly helping her out seemed to be picking that up. “Tengo una idea mejor. Te llamaré un taxi y le daré las indicaciones para llegar al... aeropuerto. Ahí es donde usted quiere ir, ¿verdad? Él te llevará al aeropuerto, de esa manera usted no conseguirá perdido.” He stuffed the map back in her hands and gently grabbed Sasha’s elbow, tugging her to the curb. “¡Taxi! ¡Taxi!”

Taxi? Sasha knew that word. She didn’t want that word. Not without Connie. “Oh, no, no, I don’t need—“

A taxi pulled over almost immediately. “¡Aeropuerto! ¡Él te llevará al aeropuerto! Así tú que no se pierda su vuelo.”

“No, Señor, I—“

“Sasha!”

Oh, thank God.

She whirled around and saw Connie running toward her, waving his hands about. “Connie!”

His jogging came to a stop. “Ah, señor,” Connie called, just loud enough over the traffic to stop the local from giving directions to the taxi driver. “Lo siento mucho, Ella está conmigo. Probablemente no debería haberla sola.” Connie stuck out his hand to shake the local’s hand. “Gracias por tratar de ayudar. Mi nombre es Connie,” he said while he slung his arm around Sasha’s shoulder and gave her a side hug. “Esta es mi novia, Sasha.” At the mention of her name, she too, offered her hand.

“Ah, soy Lucas,” Lucas introduced himself. Pointing back to the cab, he said, “Sasha dijo algo sobre el aeropuerto. ¿Sabes cómo llegar allí?”

“No,” Connie laughed. “Direcciones ayudarían, por favor.”

Sasha tuned out as Connie and Lucas continued to talk about…whatever the hell they were talking about until Connie tugged Sasha towards the car. “Come on, the car is going to take us there,” he tapped her shoulder and she shrugged her backpack off and Connie handed it to Lucas, who put it in the boot of the taxi for them “Gracias, Lucas,” he nodded, giving a wave.

Lucas smiled, opening the door to Sasha and Connie slide in. “De nada. Tienen un viaje seguro,” and he closed the door, giving the back of the cab a good pat before they pulled back into traffic.

Sasha took a deep breath, feeling exhausted. The language barrier, while understandable, was simply exhausting at worst. Letting her head fall on Connie’s shoulders, she then asked, “How the fuck did you pick up Spanish so easily?”

He laughed lightly. “We’ve been in South America for almost six months.”

“Exactly! Only seven months! I’ve only learned like three phrases in Spanish.”

Connie snickered. “Two.”

She picked her head up off his shoulder to give him a Look ™. “Dónde está el baño, Me llamo Sasha, and Servem álcool?” She held up three fingers. “Boom. Three.”

“That last one is Portuguese!” he laughed at her again, bopping her on her nose. “See? Only two.”

That didn’t make any sense. “What. No. I learned that in Brazil. It’s Spanish.”

“Yes, exactly!” Connie was really laughing now. “They speak Portuguese in Brazil!”

….Oh yeah.  Welp. _That_ mistake was bound to live in infamy.  “I can’t wait to get home,” Sasha moaned just as Connie leaned in and smacked a kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

* * *

 

When they finally arrived home, Connie and Sasha took a taxi straight to Eren and Mikasa’s house out on the farm because they were that anxious to see them. Or at least, that’s the excuse Sasha would give. The better one was that she nor Connie had brought their keys to the apartment so until they saw Historia, they were banking on good old Mikasa and Eren to give them some hospitality. And also maybe a sweater. While Sasha may have forgotten that Brazilians spoke Portuguese, at least she remembered that it was winter back in the states. Connie? Not so much.

“At least it’s not below freezing?” Connie reasoned, teeth chattering only slightly. Sasha gave a sympathetic smile as she tugged him closer, rubbing the sleeve of her sweater over his arm as they walked up the steps to Eren’s house.

They heard the party going on inside while they knocked on the door, followed by teeny-tiny footsteps. A little four year old carbon copy of Mikasa opened the front door and Sasha had to say, watching her go from happy to absolutely ecstatic was completely adorable. “Aunt Sasha!” she squealed, pushing on the screen door and running outside to hug her legs.

“Hi, sweetie!” Sasha exclaimed, crouching down to her level to give her a proper hug. “Look at you!” she smacked several quick kisses to her cheek. She leaned back a bit, putting her on her best scrutinizing face. “…have you gotten taller? Just a smidge?”

Mikasa’s daughter giggled before she wiggled out of Sasha’s arms to hug Connie’s legs. “Hi, Connie!” she motioned to his hair, which he had grown out for the first time in years due to their constant travels. She marveled at the color with a soft sigh. “It’s grey! Your hair is grey!”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed!” She laughed as he scooped her up in his arms.

“Did you miss me?” she asked, looking at Connie with hopeful eyes.

He adjusted his hold on her, lifting her up higher in his arms. “Oh, but of course! We thought about you all the time. Songs were sung. Sonnets were written. Our favorite little April shower.”

June fixed him with her best reprimanding look. “No, that’s wrong!”

Sasha leaned in and staged whispered, “No, it’s not _April showers_ it’s _May flowers_. Remember?”

“Right, Right!” Connie smacked his forehead. “How I could I forget. Sorry about that, May.”

June was smiling now, too fond of the game. “That’s wrong too!”

“What?” Sasha sputtered. “Well, if it’s not April showers…”

“And if it’s not May flowers…” Connie finished, tapping his chin in thought. “Hmm….oh! It must be…”

“June Bug!” Sasha and Connie exclaimed at the same time, both leaning into the tickle her sides.

From inside the house, Sasha could hear the sounds of Mariah Carey’s _All I want for Christmas_ playing at full blast. Sounded like Historia had gotten a hold of the soundtrack. Or maybe Annie. “Sounds like quite the party,” Sasha noted as Connie set June back on her feet. “Do you mind if we come in and join?” She leaned down and whispered, “Uncle Connie’s pretty cold. He left his jacket all the way in South America.”

Unlike Sasha’s old apartment, the farmhouse had a lot of separate rooms and walls, which were perfect for decorations. Garlands and fairy lights were everywhere, making the place feel especially warm. The smell of chocolate chip cookies wafted through the halls as they walked into the kitchen to find Mikasa at the kitchen island reading a recipe book.

“June, if you want the whisk with the cookie batter on it, I suggest you hurry because you know how Dad gets,” she commented flatly, not looking up from the cook book.

Oh, this was too fun. “Ooh, Mom, can I lick the cookie batter?” Sasha asked, and June hid her face in Sasha’s pant leg, smiling.

The reply was reflex, and it was adorable. “Sasha, honestly—“ Mikasa whipped her head up, her mouth hung open slightly in shock. “Sasha? Sasha!”

“No, but seriously, can I have the batter or what—oomf!” Her words were cut off when Mikasa ran around the counter and practically jumped in her arms. “Wow. It’s like you haven’t seen me in half a year or something,” she joked, but she still turned her head to nuzzle Mikasa’s neck.

Mikasa squeezed her tight. “You said you weren’t going to come back until after New Year’s!” She pulled back, smacking her arm lightly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Connie shrugged. “Santa decided to drop off your present a little early this year,” He told her, leaning and pressing a friendly kiss to Mikasa’s cheek. “It’s nice to see you.”

Clearly thrown off by the surprise Mikasa stood there, shocked, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, not sure of what to say next, when Sasha heard a familiar cry from the living room.

“Juno! Where’s that cookie batter you were gonna nab for me?”

With a wide grin Sasha raced into the living room, hands braced on the doorway as she swung her body around in a grand entrance. “MIMI!”

She got away with the nickname as Ymir’s usual resting “bitch face” melted away to make way for a bright grin. “Well I’ll be damned!” she hooted, and somewhere in another room in the house, Eren shouted about language. “Look what the cats dragged in!” and she jumped off the couch, slapping her thighs like she were calling a dog.

With a laugh, Sasha sprinted across the room and jumped in Ymir’s arms, wrapping her legs around her waist. “Dude! I missed you!” She continued to laugh as Ymir spun her around a few times.

“Same,” Ymir grunted, eventually setting her down with labored breath. “Man, you’re heavier than I remember. You finally gain some weight?”

Sasha beamed, throwing up her arms to flex her guns. “I sure hope so! I’ve been walking and climbing and hiking for months straight, I’d better have some muscle.” 

“Holy sh—shoot.” Ymir coughed. Not the best recovery, but it was a recovery nonetheless. “Look at your hair!” she laughed, pointing at Connie. “You’re an old man.”

It didn’t bother Connie at all, which was surprising considering how much Sasha had been teasing him about the past few weeks. “It’s the gift of genetics, my friend,” he shrugged still smiling. “I’m a silver fox.”

“Yes, you are,” Sasha cooed, leaning and giving Connie a quick kiss, just as he slathered his lips in cookie dough. June whined about it being gross before both Connie and Sasha both smacked their own cookie-covered lips on both of June’s cheeks, making her squeal.

“What’s with all the squealing, hmm?” Eren grunted, walking into the room. He hobbled with his back to them as he carried one side of a large, heavy box, Armin on the other end.

“Daddy! Daddy!” and Connie let her go as she jumped to the floor. Eren and Armin just managed to set the box down before she jumped on his back while he was still crouched to the floor.

“What, what?” he cried back in a similar tone, spinning around. A smile broke through on his face. “Well, would you look at that, it’s a Christmas miracle!” he nodded to the box they had just brought down as he hoisted his daughter higher up his back, wrapping her hands loosely around his neck. “You’re just in time to help us decorate the tree.”

Connie jumped up and down, waving his hand above his hand. “Ooh, ooh! Can I put the star on top! Can I Dad? Please, please please!?”

Eren shot him a flat look, nodding towards the whisk. “You already stole my cookie dough. You don’t get the star too.” He turned his head slightly, trying to meet June’s eyes. “Why don’t you go get everyone outside and tell them to come in? Tell them there’s a Christmas surprise.”

“Okay!” June agreed, scrambling to get to the floor and run outside, ignoring Eren’s cries about putting on some shoes.

“She’s absolutely _delicious,”_ Sasha whispered dreamily and despite the odd description, Eren hummed in agreement. “I could just _eat_ her.”

She barely heard Eren’s mumbled, “Get your own,” before the commotion outside made its way into the house. “SASHA!” Historia shouted and Sasha barely turned her head in time before her small blonde friend (well, the smaller of her blonde friends) nearly knocked the wind out of her in a colliding hug. Sasha looked up and saw Annie as well, followed by all their other friends (including Eren’s parents) filing in from the backyard. Historia’s jacket smelled of a bonfire.

“Easy, easy!” She laughed, just as Historia loosened her grip. “You miss me, girly?” she asked, pecking her lightly on the top of the head before Annie and, according to their last phone call, her fiance Bertolt came over.  “OH, ANNIE!” she shouted, and Annie instantly covered her right ear. “IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU.”

“God _damn it,”_ she hissed, smacking her lightly. “I can hear you just _fine.”_

Sasha smiled sheepishly, realizing that gag was probably not very funny to do to someone with only one good ear. That super punch that knocked her into a coma made her partially deaf in one ear, but other than that, Annie had made a full recovery. She could finally walk and run again.

Annie rolled her eyes and tugged on Sasha’s ponytail. “But it’s good to see you, too. It’s been much too quiet without you two raising hell.”

“Well, no worries!” Connie declared, tugging Sasha’s hand and dragging them to the large sectional couch that Eren had in the living room. She settled comfortably in his lap as he wrapped one arm around her waist. “South America got sick of our shenanigans and kicked us out.”

Mikasa walked in the living room with a plate of cookies that she set on the coffee table. “Please tell me you didn’t _actually_ get deported.”

“Noooo,” Sasha scoffed. “Sure, there were some close calls,” she joked, “But for the most part, many were saddened to see us go.” She smiled as June climbed up on the couch and Connie handed her the rest of the whisk with the cookie batter on it.

“Well!” Ymir gestured to the two of them as she wrapped an arm around Historia, pulling her close. “Get on with it! How was the trip?”

"We worked a lot of the time," Connie explained, which was true. They had to make money somehow. "But we definitely saw a lot of stuff."

Mikasa sat on the long edge of the sectional and drew her legs up as June climbed over Reiner and Jean’s bodies to sit in her lap. “Did you go to the flats? The salt flats?”

Sasha sighed dreamily at the thought. “Yeah, we did,” she looked down at Connie and ruffled his hair. “They were beautiful.”

“Stop making googly eyes at each other,” Annie grumbled, groaning louder when Connie leaned up to kiss her square on the lips. “And tell us about the salt flats.”

“They were huge!” Sasha squealed, turning around to face the group. “So, there was this _smidge_ of water on the flats, right? The whole thing looked like glass. Like a mirror!” She met June’s eyes, “It was like standing in the sky….”

The four year old looked at her like she lived a dream, and Sasha’s heart swelled.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, where should we put this one, pumpkin?”

Having a moment to herself, Sasha watched as Eren lifted his daughter up on his shoulders so she could reach the top of their Christmas tree. Ornament in hand, June reached forward and put it in a bare branch near the top. “That okay?” she asked, looking down to try and meet her father’s eyes.

“Perfect!” Eren declared, taking a step to the left so Mikasa could hand June another ornament. “I think you’ve got the best eye of us all.”

Sasha had seen their little family come together, and while “fairytale” was a completely cliché assessment, it was the only word she could find to describe their life. Slowly, but steadily, they assimilated into each other’s lives again, this time with new roles. Now they had a home together, the three of them in the old farmhouse Eren had bought from his parents months ago.

“I don’t know if I ever thanked you.”

Sasha looked up and saw Carla take a seat beside her, a glass of champagne in each of her hands. She offered one to Sasha, but she shook her head. “You’ve thanked me plenty,” Sasha assured.

Setting Sasha’s untouched glass on the coffee table, Carla took a sip of her own and sighed. “What you did for my son, my granddaughter, yes, but for Mikasa? I don’t know. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.”

She looked back at where Mikasa and Eren were and smiled when the both of them smacked a kiss to each of their daughter’s cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean,” Sasha finally said.

“After spending all that time with you…she’s _different,”_ she explained, and Sasha had a hard time deciphering the meaning on the emphasis of that last word. “She’s a little more relaxed, she’s more talkative, she smiles more…” Carla covered a hand over her mouth in a snicker. “She’s _funny._ I love Mikasa, but she never had the best sense of humor.”

Huh. Mikasa always seemed funny to Sasha. “I guess she was less….stressed?” Sasha offered, trying to explain the situation.

“Yeah, she was. You helped her with that. All you girls did.” Carla paused, staring back at her son’s family with a soft smile on her face. “Having Mikasa gone for all those months was torture. But now that I know who she was with, I’d say it was the best thing that ever happened to her. She needed that time apart from us. She needed that time with you.”

Noooooo what the fuck that was the cutest thing anyone’s ever said to her.

For some reason, Sasha started to cry; hastily she tried to wipe her tears with the back of her hand. “Come on, Carla,” she whined, laughing a bit, “Don’t start.”

“Momkasa” and her super hearing caught the sound of tears and zoned in on Sasha immediately. She saw her whisper into June’s ear, who in return, turned to meet Sasha’s eye and started totting over.

“Uh-oh, looks like you’re about to be coddled,” Carla snickered, smoothing Sasha’s hair back. “Don’t worry, dear, it’s only the hormones. I’m sure Mikasa cried all the time too, right?”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Not really, no. Which was really a surprise considering—“ Suddenly, she clamped her mouth shut at Carla’s knowing smile.

“Wait, no, how did you—“

“Good luck,” Carla sang, getting up so June could take her place.

She climbed up on the couch beside her. “Aunt Sasha?” she asked, poking Sasha’s shoulder gently. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Sasha let out a laugh, finally wiping away the last of her tears. As quickly as they came, they went. “I’m fine, nothing’s wrong.”

June didn’t look convinced. She crawled up in Sasha’s lap and sat with her legs tucked beneath her as she grabbed Sasha’s face in in the palms of her hands. “You don’t cry for no reason.”

Oh, how wrong she was. But nonetheless, Sasha put on a smile and leaned down to tap June’s nose. “You got me!” she giggled. “Look, I’ll tell you, but it’s got to be a secret,” she whispered. “I haven’t told anyone this, not even Connie. Think you can keep it?”

The way June nodded her head was hysterical. “I can! I promise!” she whispered back.

Sasha lifted her head and looked around to see if anyone was paying them any mind—Eren and Mikasa had gotten in a playful argument over ornament placement that had somehow lead to him wrapping his wife in Christmas lights. Ymir and Historia were playing some sort of game with Bertolt, Annie and Reiner, and far off on the edge of the room Connie was in the middle of an animated tale from their trip with Armin, Jean and Marco.

“I’m just a little nervous,” Sasha admitted quietly, just loud enough to have June hear her over the Frank Sinatra Christmas music.

“About what?”

“Well,” she tucked a strand of June’s hair behind her ear. God, she looked just like Mikasa. She only saw traces of Eren in the curve of her nose and the slightly rounder shape in her eyes. She started imagining what her own child would look like. “I’m nervous because I’m going to be a mommy. I'm having a baby.”

June’s grey eyes went wide. “Really!?” she squealed, only to be shushed by Sasha. With curious, skeptical eyes, the little girl peered down at Sasha’s stomach. “Where’s the baby?” she asked softly, laying a careful hand on her tummy. “It’s not in here. I don’t see it.”

“Oh, he’s in there. He’s still very, very small,” Sasha murmured.

 “A boy?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I have a feeling. I’m usually right about these things.” She had 300 dollars to prove it.

Careful to keep the secret, Sasha barely heard June whisper. “Hi, baby.” She looked up when Sasha started petting her head. “You’re scared of bein’ a mommy?”

“Mmmhm.”

“How come?”

She shrugged. “I never had a mommy of my own. And my daddy, you remember Uncle Ivan?” June nodded, “He was so sick for all those years before he died, he wasn’t around much either. So I’m not so sure I’d do a good job, since I never had parents of my own to look up to.”

“That’s silly,” June declared firmly. “You’re a really great aunt! And aunts are like…second mommies!”

Sasha threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, well that’s good. I’m glad you believe in me.”

“You’re a really good second mommy,” June continued, “So you’ll be a really good first mommy too! Don’t worry.”

“Who’s going to be a first mommy?”

Oh boy.

Sasha whipped her head up and saw Mikasa staring at her, eyes wide. “Sasha….are you….?”

She sighed, trying to fight a smile, but it was impossible. The inevitable had come. “Yeah. I’m fo shizz up the spout.”

Mikasa’s low pitched shout was _deafening._ So much that June scrambled off the couch, covering her ears—she probably never heard her mother shout in her entire life. “Are you _serious?”_

“Yeah dude, like, when have I ever cracked a joke?”

She engulfed Sasha in the biggest hug she can manage, which in turn caused quite a few heads to turn. “What’s going on?” Historia asked.

This wasn’t how Sasha intended on breaking the news. “I asked Mikasa to marry me. She said yes,” she joked, but of course her friends expected the real news. She probably should have at least told Connie before she let everyone else know, but. Oh well. This worked too. “Uhhh,” she swallowed thickly, the news suddenly harder than she thought it would be. Mikasa pinched her arm in encouragement. Searching the crowd of their friends, she locked eyes with Connie. “You knocked me up, you loser.”

She hadn’t ever really _stumped_ Connie before—he wasn’t one to normally get shocked, but she sure had managed it this time. His jaw went a big slack as he stared at her, the room silent, before his smiled at her, slow and wide. “….Really?” he breathed.

Flustered, Sasha stared at the ground and huffed. “Yes, _really._ I’m three and a half months pregnant.”

Of all their friends, Ymir was the first to react with a dramatic groan. “Oh my god, seriously? Can any of us here wait until they’re actually _married_ to have a damn kid?” But she smiled all the same.

“Congratulations!” Historia squealed. “Oh my god, this is great!”

Annie gave her a wary look. “I feel like I should be surprised, but I’m not.”

Meanwhile, while everyone was giving their congratulations, Connie kept staring at her with that goddamn ridiculous grin on his face. He walked over to her slowly, placing his hands on her hips carefully, like she was glass. With one last glittering smile he slid down on his knees in front of her and pressed his ear to her stomach. “Hi, baby.”

Sasha laughed nervously as everyone looked their way; she knotted her fingers in his hair. “Connie, he can’t hear you yet.”

“Hi baby,” he repeated, paying her no mind. “It's Dad." Her heart skipped a beat at the word. "Just wanted to let you know this is the best Christmas present ever.” He mumbled something she didn’t catch when he turned and pressed his nose into her shirt for a brief moment. “I’m going to marry the hell out of your mom, don’t worry. Got to make an honest woman out of her, you know.”

“Connie!” Sasha laughed.

He looked up at her, and rose to his feet once more. “Let’s get married.”

It was one thing when he mumbled it into her stomach, but it was another thing to hear him ask her directly. “Okay,” she breathed, feeling happy tears in the corner of her eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones. “But you do know what this means, right?” she wiped at her eyes with a light giggle. “We’ll have to settle down and get a mortgage. No more traveling for a while.”

Connie beamed. “That sounds _awesome.”_

“We’ll have to shop according to _school districts_.”

He still had stars in his eyes. “Can’t wait.”

“Instead of plane tickets, we’ll be buying diapers and formula.”

“We’ll do it all.” He leaned in and kissed her quickly on the lips. “I’ll make sure my new job has health benefits.” Another kiss. “I’ll make sure the apartments I had lined up for us to look at have two bedrooms.” One more. “I’ll buy all those ridiculous parent books. It’ll be great.”

Sasha sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of her slight worries lift from her shoulders. She couldn’t even believe she was scared of being a parent, not when she had Connie by her side. “It’s a lot of plans.”

“Hell, we’ll get married tomorrow! Right at City Hall! One less thing to plan!”

While Sasha certainly didn’t disagree, Ymir had other objections. “Not that this isn’t completely cute as hell or anything, but Sasha, you cannot let this man propose to you without a ring.”

“She’s right!” Historia shouted, almost offended. “Connie, a little more consideration, honestly.”

His smile wiped right off his face to make way for intense thought. Eventually, he motioned June to come over and he whispered something in her ear before she nodded and ran off to the kitchen. Getting back down on his knees (okay, one knee) he took Sasha’s hands. “Alexandra Braus.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sasha mumbled. Leave it to Ymir to initiate a big fuss. Truthfully, she liked the idea of no ring or no big wedding. She had enough on her plate as it was.

“As I was saying,” Connie cleared his throat. “Alexandra Braus. I met you on a hot summer’s day while you were leaned over a parking meter throwing up margaritas—”

“Thanks for that image. Really.”

“—and still somehow, I thought you were as lovely as could be.”

“This is disgusting!” Sasha laughed. She looked around the room and saw all their friends with similar goofy grins. “You guys do agree this is cheesy as hell, yes?”

Connie rubbed his fingers over her knuckles. “You’re feisty, clever, and kind. Also, a bit spacey, but I mean, everyone’s got to have some flaws right?” June came running back from the kitchen and Sasha saw her place a twisty-tie from a loaf of bread in one of his hands. “I can’t wait to have that mortgage payment and tax benefits with you,” he smiled lightly, tying the green twisty tie around Sasha’s ring finger. “and I _especially_ can’t wait to tell people we’re a family. Baby and all.”

“You sap,” she whispered, staring at the make-shift ring around her finger. “I can’t wait either.”

From across the room, Armin tipped his glass in a cheer. “Nice save there with the ring, buddy.”

Eyes still on Sasha, Connie winked. “What'd I tell you? Improv skills come in handy.”

Sasha threw her head back and laughed.

Her dad would probably be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, NOW it's officially done!!!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the lovely support you've given while I've been writing this. I've never received such thoughtful reviews on any of my other works before, and it was truly wonderful you hear such kind and constructive feedback. I hope the epilogue was fun!!! I hate when epilogues get to be like "And now this person's this, and this person's this," and it just becomes a list of changes, so I hope I've implied enough so you know what's going on. Just in case everything wasn't clear, everyone's in a good place, everyone's graduated college, everyone's got jobs, blah blah blah. Historia probably still rents out the apartment so they can keep it. 
> 
> I hope the Spanish was correct. (I've been taking Spanish for 5 years, so I know some) Even if it's not, what he was saying wasn't important to the plot so no /real/ foul done??
> 
> Well, I do hope you liked it!!! But uh.....yeah!!! that's it??? I think??? Let me know if you have any questions! Thanks again for everything guys, I hope you've enjoyed!


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